The Rising Tide
by xholyindolence
Summary: After the fall of SS, Yohji, believing himself to be the only surviving member of Weiss, becomes Schuldig's lover. But when the truth comes out everything changes and Yohji must decide between past and present loyalties, between past and present loves.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz, or much of anything really. If I did there'd be more man sex, I assure you. I also don't own the song bits at the beginning of each chapter. They are all from various Something Corporate songs.

AN: Ahh, my first venture into multi-chapter weiss kreuz fanfiction. In fact it's been a while since I've written anything at all. So, I hope you enjoy and leave me loads of comments 'cause they make me SO very happy and also guilt trip me into writing more.

Warnings: Bad language, Yaoi, ANGST, possible Character Death…oh and Drug Use/Abuse nods

Further More: I apologize in advance for sporadic updates, odd tense changes, unusually short chapters, OOCness and overly-dramatic sobbing bishies. I just can't help myself.

FYI: The prologue picks up just after the SS building goes down into Tokyo Bay. Disregards Gluhen, the CDs and the OVAs.

ENJOY!!

* * *

**The Rising Tide**

Prologue

"_The rising tide will not let you forget me"_

Ruthless – Something Corporate

Kudoh Yohji was beautiful.

Even soaking wet, retching up sea water, blonde hair turned dark, matted to bleeding head wound, Kudoh Yohji was _beautiful. _

His mind, however, was chaotic, his thoughts erratic and Schuldig had a hard time pulling himself away from all that insanity, from the pleading, gasping, searching thoughts that he couldn't sort out.

"Have to. . . have to find them. . .save! Omi, Ken, Aya! Oh god, Aya!" The kitten was meshing thought and spoken word and projecting all of it as he desperately tried to drag himself back to the waters edge, determined to rescue his teammates even in his feverish state.

"Relax mein katzchen," Schuldig whispered, soothing Yohji's mind, lulling him to unconsciousness to save both their psyches. "Relax."

"No. . .Aya," The blonde moaned, before his eyes slipped shut and his movement went lax.

Schuldig heaved a sigh of relief at the silence. Well, not silence really, but the tolerable humming of distant minds, a sound the telepath had long since gotten used to. He was shivering from the cold wind against his wet form and his clothes were drenched not just with the water of Tokyo Bay, but with his own blood. He touched the lacerations on his neck, gingerly. He'd had the kitten's wire around his neck when the building had gone down.

After a moment to catch his bearings, he checked the links. These links permanently tied him to other members of Schwarz. Still intact, proving that Crawford, Nagi and Farfarello were alive and out there somewhere, but he and Yohji seemed to be alone on the beach.

Weiss now. This was harder to do, he had to pick out the individual flavors of their minds against the hundreds and thousands in Tokyo.

Nothing. No taste of Aya's self-loathing or Omi's security-blanket naivety or Ken's slow-building madness. Nothing. That meant if they weren't dead they soon would be.

Schuldig glanced over to Yohji, sprawled out beside him on the beach. Could he really be the only one of them left? The German could still sense his desperation, even unconscious, could sense the urge to run back into the tide, to find his teammates. Wouldn't it crush poor Yotan to find that there was no one left to save?

A few strands of damp hair stuck to Yohji's face and Schuldig leaned over the distance to push them away.

'Such a pretty, pretty kitty,' Schuldig petted him as if he really were the cat he imagined him to be. 'My kitty.'

Mine. He liked the sound of it, liked thinking that this gorgeous man could be all his.

Schuldig pushed himself up into a sitting position, pulling Yohji possessively into his lap. Then closing his eyes, he followed the link to Crawford in his head. He had a proposition to make.

'I've always wanted a pet,' he thought, smiling to himself, even as the cold tide rushed back in.

* * *

I wrote this Prologue ages ago, perhaps a year, maybe even more. I've recently had the urge to keep going with it. So don't be shocked if the writing style seems different (better, we hope) Not sure if I'm keeping the SoCo lyrics in each chapter…what do y'all think?

Don't know where this is gonna go. But please, enjoy the ride with me...


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz. I also don't own the song bits at the beginning of each chapter. They are all from various Something Corporate songs.

A/N: I'm taking a lot of artistic license here. I watched the entire show some three years ago all in one weekend on a total anime binge. So I'm relying half on what I can remember, half on fanon and half on my own imagination. This story is an improper fraction. Let's hope for more frequent updates.

* * *

**The Rising Tide**

Chapter One

_I am a butterfly but you wouldn't let me die._

Me And The Moon – Something Corporate

Schuldig had familiarized himself over the years with all of the flavors of the mind. Some were subtle; like fine wine they needed to be savored, considered. Others were so strong, so demanding that it was excruciating to the senses. Grief was one of the latter. In fact, it seemed to Schuldig that this was the most tangible of them all, for grief, by its very nature, screamed to be noticed and relieved.

One did not need to be a mind-reader to know that Yohji was grieving.

The Japanese man's normally tan skin was pale and sallow as he sat on the edge of the hotel room's bed. His eyes did not focus on any one thing, but seemed to be looking at things that were not there at all. His thoughts were loud and Schuldig was making a pointed effort to block them out.

He wondered, as he watched a man, who, for all intents and purpose didn't seem to notice his presence at all, if he had made the wrong decision on that cold morning on the edge of Tokyo Bay. Maybe the kitten was not the only one who had suffered a head injury.

Crawford, when Schuldig had finally gotten his attention, looked just as pristine as a person could after a near death experience. His suit had been drenched, his hair in disarray, his glasses apparently missing but he still greeted Schuldig with that same officious sneer. And Schuldig had long ago learned that it was impossible to pull one over on a precog, so he simply gestured to the unconscious man beside him and matter-of-factly stated, "I want him."

The smirk left Brad Crawford's face, replaced by a thoughtful half-frown and for a moment the only sound was the lapping of the cold water they'd just emerged from.

"Alright Schuldig," Crawford finally spoke, but his tone was grave, making the German shiver deeper than the cold could touch. "Kudoh is yours."

And Schuldig couldn't believe that it was that simple, wondered if there was something that Crawford had Seen that he was not mentioning, but the American turned sharply and walked off, leaving a confused Schuldig alone with his new prize.

But now that very prize looked so damaged that Schuldig wondered if it had been worth the effort to drag him from the sea.

"Kudoh," Schuldig tried to put some weight in his voice, tried to startle the man into being conscious of his surroundings. No such luck, the blonde's expression remained vacant, his eyes twitched as though he was in REM awake. Schuldig didn't like this.

"Look at me!" He commanded, grabbing a fistful of blonde hair, tugging hard. Finally Yohji's eyes met his. "You're mine! If I wanted a pet to just sit there, I would have bought a fucking plant!"

"Schwartz," Yohji said, but it was more of a realization than anything else and lacked the usual malice. Then meekly, "Where is my team?"

"Dead." He might have smiled when he said it.

Schuldig had not planned what happened next. Yohji began to make desperate gasping noises, hyperventilation maybe or half sobs. "No," he said or thought repeatedly and Schuldig pushed him down onto the hotel bed, covered the struggling body with his own in an attempt to shut him up and perhaps a little out of pity.

It was then Schuldig realized that they were both still in their wet clothes and with the proximity of their bodies he noted the clammy feel to Yohji's skin and the heat coming off of him in waves. Fever.

"Shh kitten," Schuldig murmured, sitting up so that he straddled Yohji.

Yohji stopped struggling then though his breathing still came in labored bursts. "You killed them?" He sounded like a lost child.

"Nein," Schuldig answered softly, considering the beautiful man below him, the position they were in, and suddenly felt a yearning to touch him. "They must have drowned."

"Oh," Yohji replied slowly, seeming to take comfort in the hand that was now softly stroking his knotted hair. "Why I am I still alive?"

"I saved you."

"Why?"

The answer was simple. "Because you're mine."

"Oh," and it was with that declaration that the first tears slipped from Yohji's eyes to curve down his face, to further dampen the sheets below and Schuldig _had_ to kiss them away.

From then it was quick, and Yohji was yielding in thought and action, bunching his fingers in the sheets, parting his legs and mewling like the kitten Schuldig referred to him as. And when Schuldig came after a few sharp thrusts, he buried his face in damp blonde hair and growled, "You're all mine now." And Yohji did not think or say a single thing against that fact, but sobbed a little and then passed out.


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz. I also don't own the song bits at the beginning of each chapter. They are all from various Something Corporate songs.

A/N: All I can say is chapter three is already written, just not in order. So maybe you'll get it soon? My aim is for longer more cohesive chapters. Thank you to everyone who left me reviews as they make me feel guilty and make me write faster.

* * *

**The Rising Tide**

Chapter Two

_You said destiny would blow me away._

Cavanaugh Park – Something Corporate

Aya's skin was of alabaster; his hair was red like freshly spilled blood, ear tails just long enough to pool in the depths of his collarbone. And his eyes, his eyes were such an unnatural shade that they appeared to cast their own light, like a cats. Schuldig watched from the shadows and it was the moment that his prey turned away that he planned to strike.

First he kissed him on the lips, deeply, sensuously. Then he nipped down his jaw to feel the Japanese man's fluttering heart beat. Schuldig nuzzled that gorgeously pale neck and it was without even realizing it that his hand crept up to squeeze at his windpipe.

Aya bucked and struggled, looked like a lover betrayed, but Schuldig kept pressing, pressing, until a blue pallor came over alabaster skin, until the light in violet eyes faded and Aya had died.

It was the screaming that woke Schuldig up to the darkened hotel room, such pained shrieks and so close like they were coming from inside his head, from his own throat. But they weren't, they weren't, they were coming from—

"Yohji?"

The blonde moaned agonizingly, twisted in the blankets of the narrow bed they shared, thrashing and now and then letting out pained screams, his hands twitching spasmodically about the throat of his imagined lover.

A dream? Well, a nightmare, not Schuldig's but Yohji's. He'd been picking up the other man's nightmare? Schuldig gave Yohji a sort of mental shake and the Japanese man sat bolt upright, gasping.

"Yohji?" Schuldig asked again, feeling a bit haunted himself. How had he allowed their thoughts to get so muddled? He should have had more control than that…

"I killed him." The words came out on an exhalation of breathe.

"No," was all Schuldig could manage, trying to calm his own wrecked nerves, but the fear he could sense from the blonde was not helping. "No, you didn't."

It was dark in the room, but Schuldig could just make out Yohji's flushed face next to him, his shaking form, the tears that shimmered at the corner of his eyes. The other man's guilt hit his senses hard, but along with this came the flavor of confusion. Yohji, though now awake, did not seem to know where he was, did not seem to know he was in bed with an enemy.

"I'm sorry!" Yohji gasped brokenly, seemingly not seeing the telepath beside him "I'm sorry, Aya! So sorry!" He fisted his hands in his hair yanking at his own blonde waves.

"Stop it!" Schuldig commanded of his pet, not liking the wild look in his eyes, but Yohji's apologies would not be silenced and he continued to beg for the forgiveness of a dead man. Schuldig pulled the other man roughly into his arms in an awkward embrace.

"Shh! It's not your fault katzchen," he said, trying to sound soothing. "Stop or you'll hurt yourself."

"Please Aya! I'm sorry. Forgive me, please, say you forgive me?" Yohji buried his face in the crook of Schuldig's neck and the heat from his forehead made the German nervous.

"I forgive you," Schuldig mumbled reluctantly, but it seemed to placate Yohji who settled at his words. He sent gentle thoughts to the blonde's mind. Schuldig held the blonde 'til he fell into a peaceful sleep and spent the rest of the night sitting up, awake, and wondering just what he had gotten himself into.

* * *

"What should I do, oh Wise One?"

"Does it matter what I say? You always do what you want anyway."

"But I feel like there's something you're not telling me. Have you Seen something?"

"Glimpses…"

"Brad?"

"It's unclear. But if you consider something your property you must take good care of it. Or someone else might take it from you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that, Balinese will be yours. Do not force him. And he will stay. For now."

* * *

Yohji awoke to the clanking of cutlery and so was not sure after three days of feverish nightmares if the vision of a member of Schwartz sitting across the room and mumbling in agitated German to a strawberry pop-tart was a figment of his imagination or not.

Yohji wanted to laugh, but held it back given the circumstances.

Schuldig looked up sharply, "Do I amuse you, katzchen?"

Yohji jumped, pulling up the sheets to hide his nakedness as if this offered some protection from the man before him reading his mind. He didn't care to think about exactly why he was naked.

It was Schuldig who chuckled then. "A little late for modesty, don't you think?"

"Fuck you Schwartz!" Yohji hissed and looked away.

"Actually…" Schuldig started to say, but stopped himself with a laugh. "Are you hungry? I got breakfast."

Yohji didn't answer; his assassin senses took over, he was calculating escape routes. 'Window across the room. Door behind Mastermind. Vents?' He looked down at his wrist, his eyes resting on his watch. Why did he still have it? Schuldig had to know that it housed a thin sharp garroting wire, that he could be strangling him in an instant. Why would he be allowed to keep it?

"I'm a telepath Yohji," Schuldig answered his thoughts. "I know what you're planning the moment you do. I don't need to disarm you. Besides, you're not a prisoner."

"I'm not?" Here Yohji looked up to the meet Schuldig's hard emerald gaze.

"No. You can leave anytime you want." He said this with a small honest smile that confused Yohji even more. He did not associate Schwartz with honesty.

"But you said," and here, remembering, Yohji felt a coiling in the pit of his stomach that was half fear and half… "You said that I was yours."

Yohji remembered the last three days through a haze: his fevered nightmares, the German holding him in his arms. Sex…

"I need a pet and you are a stray. As far as I can tell you haven't got anywhere else to go." Schuldig shrugged, took a bite out of his pop-tart and frowned.

Yohji thought about this, thought about Kritiker and Persia, thought about all that had been uncovered, thought about the blood on his hands, thought about his teammates at the bottom of Tokyo Bay. He thought about Aya's deep purple eyes staring at him accusingly and thought he would be sick.

"Yohji, stop."

Yohji looked hopelessly into the face of his enemy.

"I'm not your enemy," Schuldig said.

"You kidnapped a comatose girl! You killed innocent people! You tried to kill us!" Yohji accused and he knew he sounded hysterical, knew he must look ridiculous sitting on that bed naked and still weak and that knowledge made him feel vulnerable and made him all the more hysterical. But Schuldig just watched him and smirked. Yohji thought to punch that smirk off his face.

The attack was so fast, so fueled with nothing but pure rage that even Schuldig didn't see it coming. Yohji was up and across the room, lunging at Schuldig in an instant, toppling the little table and their breakfast, toppling the chair Schuldig had been sitting in and sending them both crashing into the wall, his enemy pinned under him.

Yohji went straight for the throat, like an animal, pressing at wounds that his wire had left only days earlier. But he was still weak and Schuldig pushed him off easily. Yohji collapsed to the floor, head spinning.

"You are my enemy, Mastermind," he gasped out.

Schuldig stared down at him, responded mildly, "That's over now."

Over, over, everything was over and Yohji realized that Schuldig had a point. He didn't have anywhere else to be, he should have been dead. For a moment he considered the sharp edge of his own wire and wondered if he could hang himself by it like he'd hung so many of his victims. But the thought was fleeting. He was just too exhausted.

"What do you want with me Mastermind?" He asked wearily. He refused to look up, but instead focused of the weave of the hotel's carpet.

"I need some companionship. You intrigue me."

"What about Schwartz? Are they…?" He couldn't say dead.

"Alive. But we're our own masters now and we may do as we like."

"And you expect me to become one of you?" Yohji asked this with marked distaste. "I only kill in the name of Weiss."

But there wasn't anymore Weiss was there? And Yohji was drawn to Schuldig as the only familiar thing in a world that had just stripped him of everything. He was no longer an assassin, hell, he wasn't even a florist. He was sick, weak, and grievously, torturously alone. And though he loathed Schuldig, he knew he needed him.

"Nein, katzchen." Schuldig kneeled down before him. "I know Weiss had delicate sensibilities. You don't need to worry. I won't make you into a murderer." The irony was intentional and Yohji picked up on it. It made him feel guiltier. Who was he to judge?

"As I've said, you're free to go at any time. But why not stay and keep me company?" Schuldig stood and for the first time Yohji noted that he too was naked save a towel around his waist. Despite himself, he admired the smooth torso, the smattering of scars, the curly orange hairs that led a trail pointing down to disappear where creamy smooth skin met white terry towel.

Schuldig offered him a hand and hesitantly Yohji took it, let himself be pulled to his feet.

"Will you stay?" Schuldig gently smoothed an errant blonde hair like a lover would. Yohji supposed they were lovers now.

"I hate you," Yohji replied, glaring, but he knew that he could not say no.

And Schuldig's expression suggested that he'd known that it would be thusly all along.


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz. I also don't own the song bits at the beginning of each chapter. They are all from various Something Corporate songs.

A/N: just some bits. I'm sorry if the progression of Yohji and Schu's relationship seems out of whack but this part of the story is merely background and I want to get to the proper action already! I'm sure you all do too. Also my laptop is dead (the screen fell off!) so this isn't the chapter three I originally wrote and some of those scenes I left out will appear in the upcoming (I swear!) chapter four. Anyway please enjoy!

* * *

**The Rising Tide**

Chapter Three

"_I'll never tell you what's all in my head_"

Burnt Vacant Red – Something Corporate

Seven's steering wheel was cold, a comfort to Yohji's too warm forehead. He could hear his own breathing and it seemed to him obnoxiously loud in the silence of the garage. Just lift your head, Yohji, he thought, lift your head, open the door, up the steps, pass out in your bed. He couldn't make himself move. Instead he listened to his own breathing.

The car door swung upon with startling force. Yohji opened one eye slowly. Aya was a frightening figure towering over him as he was. Sexy too. Yohji laughed. He might have giggled. Aya's face twisted into a sneer.

"What are you doing down here?" Aya hissed.

Yohji rolled his head along the steering wheel cover. "Can't get up."

"You're drunk," Aya accused as though that wasn't obvious. His eyes looked menacing in the garage lit up only by Seven's headlights, a deep purple judgmental glow. "Get up! We're supposed to be prepared for a mission at any time. How do you expect to do your job like this?"

"You're a heartless bastard Ran Fujimiya," Yohji slurred weakly. Still his words hit their mark; the blonde knew all too well that Aya found the use of his real name offensive. His expression turned dark, his body tensed and Yohji truly thought that his former lover was going to hit him, but the moment passed. Aya's face was again stony.

"And you're nothing but a slut Yohji Kudoh."

Yohji finally lifted his head, laughed a loud jarring hollow bark of a laugh. Did Aya honestly think that would hurt him? That was the least of Yohji's sins. "You certainly never complained about that did you, baby?"

Yohji moved to wrap his arms around his ex-lover's waist, but Aya leapt away as though he feared the other man's touch. Yohji supposed he did.

"That's over now. You're weak, Yohji. I could never love someone like you."

Those words echoed in Yohji's head, first in Aya's voice then in Asuka—Neu's. He wanted to make them stop those voices, those hurtful accusations and before he knew it the sound of wire leaving his watch, Aya's startled gasp, and the sound of their bodies hitting the garage wall drowned out the voices. There was something beautiful in how quickly Aya's face was turning blue.

"Yohji! Stop it!" Yohji jumped at the voice from behind him. There Schuldig was, standing in front of Seven, his arms outstretched. "Don't."

Yohji turned back, saw Aya's body, unconscious and crumpled at his feet. "No," he mumbled, looking to the blood the garroting wire had drawn from being wrapped around his bare hands. "I-I--"

"You didn't. Yohji," Schuldig walked over to the Japanese man, pulled him into his arms, shielding him from what he had done. "It's okay."

The garage, Seven, Aya's body, all melted away, became the expensive hotel room they'd been sharing for the past week.

When Yohji's senses returned to him he was aware that he was standing in the middle of the room, yards away from the bed he'd been sleeping in and far too close to his enemy.

"Are you alright?"

Yohji could not answer. Schuldig sighed.

"How did I get over here?" Yohji's voice was rough from lack of use; he hadn't had much to say over the last few days.

"You were sleepwalking." Schuldig led him back to the crumpled bed, urged him to sit on its edge.

"You were in my dream," Yohji mumbled, running a hand agitatedly through his hair. Schuldig picked up a pack of cigarettes from the night stand, offered the blonde one, took one for himself, lit them both with hands that shook slightly.

"I know. It was the only way to wake you up."

"Shit." The expletive came out with a puff of smoke and was followed by a rough cough. Yohji tugged at his own hair, a habit he had when he was upset at himself.

"That wasn't all a nightmare was it?"

"I don't know." Yohji shook his head forcefully as if dispelling the images from his head. "I don't remember anymore."

Schuldig straightened up, stared at the blonde man before him appraisingly. Their eyes met, emerald and jade, and Yohji was the first to look away. He felt as though Schuldig could see all of his deepest, darkest secrets, a rather redundant feeling to have when one was in the midst of a telepath.

"So you got on Abyssinian's bad side, huh?"

The only answer was silence, underscored by Yohji's rough breathing, a souvenir from Tokyo Bay.

"I thought you were lovers."

'We were,' a stray thought Schuldig supposed he wasn't meant to pick up.

"I'm not really an expert on the matter but I don't think that's how you treat someone you love," Schuldig said, perhaps too snidely.

"Drop it, Mastermind," Yohji hissed.

"Fine," Schuldig held up his hands in acquiescence. He ground out his cigarette in an ashtray that between the two men was already overflowing.

Schuldig had retrieved the cigarettes as well as the simple clothes both of them were wearing a few days earlier. He had left his kitten in the hotel room alone, assured by Brad that he would not try to escape. However, what the precog had not warned him about was how Yohji would react to waking up to find himself alone. The events of that day were not something either man wanted to talk about, but Schuldig was sure he would never forget the sight that greeted him upon returning from his errands.

Apparently Yohji had actually intended to escape, but he had only gotten as far as the doorway before he'd broken down. It had taken ages to calm down the hysterical blonde who seemed convinced that Schuldig was not real, but only an apparition, one of the many ghosts that plagued him. It had taken even longer to untangle him from his own wire and to clean up the resulting blood. Remnants of it still stained the white walls. But now Schuldig knew that for whatever reason Yohji could not leave him.

Since then wherever Schuldig went within the hotel room, Yohji's eyes followed him and he began to look less like a caged animal and more simply intrigued. At night when the nightmares came Yohji seemed almost to expect Schuldig to hold him and Schuldig was all too happy to comply.

"What're you doing?" Yohji croaked, watching warily as Schuldig moved about the room, collecting the few items they'd accumulated.

"Packing," Schuldig answered. "I've found a place for us. We're checking out."

Yohji nodded slowly, seemed almost pleased with this news.

"Mastermind?"

"Schuldig," the German corrected.

"Mastermind," Yohji repeated stubbornly.

"What?" Schuldig demanded, looking up with irritation.

"Where are my sunglasses?"

Schuldig could have screamed at the absurdity of that question. "Oh, I don't know!" he replied bitingly. "Maybe they fell off when I was saving your goddamn life, you ungrateful asshole!"

"Oh," Yohji replied and Schuldig could feel the waves of disappointment from all the way across the room.

'Jesus,' Schuldig thought, 'all this for a pair of sunglasses.' Without thinking Schuldig yanked off the sunglasses that he usually kept perched on his head over his bandana. He tossed them at Yohji more forcefully than necessary. "Wear those."

Yohji caught them adeptly, turning them around in his hands a moment, examining them, before putting them on the tip of his nose. He gazed thoughtfully at the other man over the frames.

The change was almost immediate and even if Schuldig hadn't been a mind reader he would have noted the sudden transformation in Yohji. With the glasses on he suddenly seemed more confident and he rose from the bed less the cowed broken man Schuldig had observed for the past week and more the suave playboy assassin he had been before.

"Thank you, Mastermind." It sounded like he was thanking him for more than just the sunglasses. Yohji offered a small sheepish smile and Schuldig was not sure if the sudden burst of affection he felt was his or Yohji's. He suspected it was a mix of both.

"Dammit. Call me Schuldig." He reached up to smooth an errant strand of Yohji's blonde hair, a habit he'd realized he'd grown quite fond of.

"Schuldig," Yohji attempted slowly. The word sounded awkward and foreign in his mouth. "Schuldig."

"It means guilty," the German supplied and after he said it he wondered why he did.

Yohji frowned at that, ghosted a hand over his left shoulder where the other man knew the word "sin" was etched into his skin forever. Maybe they understood each other better than they thought.

"You can call me, Yohji," the blonde supplied, taking a slow step towards him.

Schuldig laughed. "I already do."

"Thank you, Schuldig," Yohji murmured again, he leaned forward, pressed his lips gently, tentatively to the other man's. The kiss turned fierce, passionate, dangerous.

Schuldig was the first to pull away. He caught his own upset reflection in the sunglasses. This was not right.

"Abyssinian was wrong, Yohji. You're not a slut. You don't need to do this." Schuldig felt sick, frustrated. He didn't want Yohji like this.

The Japanese man frowned deeply. The playboy mask dissolved just as quickly as it had come. Yohji shook his head, turned to walk away but surprising himself, Schuldig pulled him into an embrace just as he had in Yohji's dream.

'What am I doing?' Schuldig asked himself. He was frightened by his own actions. He had rescued Yohji from drowning to keep as his own personal sex toy. And now, well now he didn't know what he was doing.

"Am I going crazy?" Schuldig jumped as Yohji's muffled question mirrored so closely his own feelings. 'This must be how people feel when I respond to their thoughts,' he considered, bemused.

"No," Schuldig said, hoping he sounded reassuring. "No you're not."

"I should be trying to kill you," Yohji moaned, "I should be trying to escape. But I can't, I can't. I have no where to go. You're all I have. But you're my enemy."

"I'm not. I'm not your enemy anymore." And Schuldig held him tighter. His heart sank at that word, 'enemy.' Would he always be Yohji's enemy? He needed so much more than that.

"You're not crazy, Yohji," he assured him. 'But am I?' Schuldig was glad he was the telepath in this situation; he was afraid of how Yohji would react if he could sense the feelings of love threatening to take over the German's conscious.


	5. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz. I also don't own the song bits at the beginning of each chapter. They are all from various Something Corporate songs.

A/N: There was way more to this but I chopped it in half because I got tired of waiting for inspiration. Any readers left out there? Reviews might make my fingers type faster…

**The Rising Tide**

Chapter Four

"_The closer I get to feeling, the further that I'm feeling from alright"_

Straw Dog – Something Corporate

The apartment building served not as a home but more as a luxurious maximum security lock-up prison. It was the kind of place that politicians, celebrities and other people in the public eye kept their dirty little secrets and the doormen at its front were as much to keep the curious out as to keep the indiscretions in. It was here that Schuldig intended to keep Yohji.

The building was eight stories high and their two bedroom apartment was on the eighth floor. It had come completely furnished with faux antique couches, a romantic breakfast nook and a queen-sized bed in each room. But the first night they'd moved in Yohji had found his way into Schuldig's bed after a nightmare and it had remained that way ever since.

Their neighbors kept mostly to themselves a fact that the two assassins greatly appreciated. After all, the other residents, men and women alike, had secret lives of their own and Yohji and Schuldig barely blinked at the famous faces they passed in the lobby or in the elevator, come calling on what was mostly a building of glorified prostitutes.

If Yohji much cared about the merit of where he was living he did not make that fact known, verbally or mentally. He seemed satisfied to follow Schuldig around, eyes now constantly hidden behind dark glasses. He remained mostly silent and his thoughts no longer screamed with grief, instead there was the ever-present undertow of a silent mourning. Schuldig felt that a ghost was following him around some days, that Yohji was but a shade of the vibrant, flirtatious man he'd once been.

He kissed him sometimes. Mostly at night, Schuldig found, and wondered if it was a result of always acting in the darkness, but Yohji seemed to feel the boldest at night. But there was no romance in it, just the animalistic lust of a man who had nothing left to him but base instinct. Schuldig wondered when that had stopped being enough.

Schuldig chuckled to himself as he unlocked the front door of Schwartz's hideout. He might have his own place with Yohji but Schwartz's house would always be associated with what normal people might think of as home. Still it was funny to think of a place you shared with three other insane assassins as home.

Farfarello was sitting on the couch when Schuldig walked in, quite casually sharpening one of his knives. His one eye rolled up to meet Schuldig's and his scarred face broke into a sickening looking smile.

"The dog returneth to his vomit," he said as greeting.

"Nice to see you too, Farf."

Farfarello held up his knife eyed it a moment, considering, before sliding it across his tongue. Bright red blood bubbled up in a little line. Farfarello slurped it up eagerly.

"How fairs the fallen angel?" He inquired casually. Blood foamed from the corner of his mouth. "Does he now walk in the way of darkness?"

"Excuse me?"

"He means Kudoh." Nagi appeared in the entry way to the kitchen, a jar of mayonnaise bobbed in the air behind him.

"Oh. Right." Schuldig spared a glance at Farfarello, taking comfort in the aura of his madness.

Yes, it was nice to be home, he thought to himself as he followed Nagi into the kitchen. Quiet. Farf had no mind to read, Nagi had nearly perfect shields and Schuldig could never hope to understand the thoughts of a precog.

Nagi was making a sandwich, the ingredients floating around him. Schuldig snatched some cold cuts as they floated by earning him a look of annoyance from the teenage boy. Schuldig ruffled his hair, placating. Had he gotten taller from the last time he'd seen him?

Nagi's thoughts must have been running along a similar line. "You haven't been home in a while."

"You know me," Schuldig grinned. "Busy, busy."

Nagi scoffed. "Busy with Kudoh, I'm sure." Was that a hint of jealousy?

"Why? Did you miss me, kid? Hmm?" Schuldig made his voice extra obnoxious.

Nagi laughed again, the mayo made its way back to the fridge. "Yes. Immensely."

"Oh! Nagi-chan!" Schuldig threw his arms around the boy, squeezed tight. "I missed you too!"

"Get off Schuldig!" Nagi bit out. The German could feel a force prying apart his arms.

"Alright, alright," he said, relenting. "Where's our fearless leader?"

"In his office."

"Thanks ever so!" Schuldig blew him a kiss. Nagi rolled his eyes. The telepath picked up a wave of annoyance and a hint of familial affection from the Japanese boy before he turned to leave in search of Crawford.

"Brad!" Schuldig swung open the office door.

"Don't you knock?" Crawford didn't look up from the laptop on the desk before him.

"Of course not. Why bother? You know when I'm coming."

Schuldig took one of the seats set up in front of Crawford's desk. He always felt like he was in the principal's office whenever he came in here.

"You wanted to see me Oh Great One?"

"Don't call me that."

"Yes dear."

"Or that."

Crawford closed the laptop, finally making eye contact with the man before him. Schuldig grinned challengingly back at him.

"Be serious Schuldig," he commanded.

"Aren't I always?"

"The reason I wanted to see you..." Crawford faltered a moment and the slaphappy smile fell from Schuldig's face. Brad Crawford did not falter. "It's about your resent...acquisition."

"You mean Yohji?" Schuldig did not know that he liked to think of Yohji in those terms. 'Well, what terms would you rather use?' an accusatory voice asked inside his mind.

"Yes. I've had visions."

"You told me," Schuldig said hastily. "You said that if I handled things right I'd keep him. I did what you said."

"Not that," Crawford began again. "This is about you."

"Me?"

"Your...feelings."

"Feelings?" Schuldig frowned. Where was this leading exactly? Schuldig instinctually tried to reach out for Crawford's mind but he was met with the same impenetrable fortress as always. "Spit it out Brad."

The American seemed to be garnering up some courage. When he finally spoke it was low and steady like the words were being forced out, maybe through those Fort Knox shields.

"Are you falling in love with him?"

Schuldig fell into fits of hysterical laughter. How could you not laugh at that? Big scary Brad Crawford talking about love like some gossiping school girl. Outside of that office was a mad man licking knives, a teenage boy not yet past puberty who had shed more blood than an executioner. They had just toppled an international crime organization bent on world domination and Brad Crawford was asking him if he was in love?

Schuldig just barely managed to quell his laughter in the face of Crawford's irritation.

"Schuldig." He warned. "Answer the question."

The German felt suddenly uncomfortable at this demand.

"No," he answered, harsh, decisive. "No, I'm not."

He stood, the chair screeching on the hard wood as it slid back.

"I have to go," he said. "Yohji doesn't like to be left alone for long. He—" Stopped. Realized what he was saying, its implications. "I have to go."

Nagi was in the living room now sitting next to Farfarello. Schuldig couldn't tell if they were having a conversation or if the crazed Irishman was mumbling to himself. Schuldig paused, trying to make it not look like he was running away. "Later," he managed to breathe in their direction.

"You're leaving?" Nagi asked around a bite of his sandwich.

"Yep," Schuldig laughed breezily. He inched his way to the door. "Busy, busy remember."

"Sure." Nagi paused a moment, looked thoughtful. "Hey, what happened to your sunglasses?"

"Bye."

Schuldig tried not to slam the door.


	6. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz. I also don't own the song bits at the beginning of each chapter. They are all from various Something Corporate songs.

A/N: I wrote this a while ago. Denno where I got the info that Omi's birthday was in March but now lelola[dot]net is informing me that its February 29th. Whatever, close enough. However it says that Yohji's birthday is March 3rd which kind of makes this whole thing sort of iffy but eh just go with it… post script thank you all so so so much for your great reviews. Hope you all continue to enjoy as this looks like its gonna go on for a while XD

**The Rising Tide**

Chapter Five

Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE !-- /* Font Definitions */ font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:1; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;} /* Style Definitions */ , , {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt; line-height:115%;} page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} 1 {page:Section1;} --

_"I want to save you. I need you. Save me too."_

I Want to Save You - Something Corporate

It was not a long walk back to the new apartment; both residences were in the same shady upscale part of town. Still it would have been more practical to have taken a cab, or even the subway, but Schuldig used the cool air and the din of a crowd of thoughts to clear his own head.

There was too much to think about.

Love? Sure Schuldig was familiar with the concept. He was a telepath after all and there was a pocket of everyone's mind they reserved for some happiness or misery related to the treacherous L word. And that was fine for other people. But love was not something Schuldig considered for himself. It was a ridiculous notion. As if you could call yourself "guilty" and then ever hope to fall in love.

And because he was a telepath Schuldig knew all about what love did to people. It wasn't logical. It bubbled up in the soul and acted as a leech, an irrational leech. And Schuldig was definitely reckless and surely irresponsible but he was by no means irrational. In his line of business irrationality got you killed.

Of course he wasn't immune to foolish human behaviors just because he had a greater knowledge of them. There was a time when he had been young and not yet quite so jaded and the thought of the word love on Brad's lips might have changed everything. But for all he knew Brad was the one person in the world who didn't have that pocket in his mind and so he'd grown up and toughened up and now the idea was preposterous.

He didn't want to be like Yohji, a man who was haunted by the ghosts of his Asuka and now of Fujimiya. Who had to wear the words "when you gonna learn?" on his skin to remind himself of the weakness of his own heart.

But how had his thoughts turned to Yohji again?

Schuldig nodded to the doormen as he entered the building. The guards had it in their head that he was some European superstar gracing them with his presence and he didn't bother to act otherwise.

Despite Schuldig's excuse to Crawford, Yohji was getting better at being alone after that first unspoken incident, but Schuldig still decided to take the elevator, getting him to his eighth floor apartment a little faster.

The German could not deny that his heart lurched when he opened the door to find the living room empty. He was being ridiculous, he decided, Yohji was not a puppy and he was not a house wife. He did not need to greet him when he got home. Still he called out tentatively, "Yohji?" No reply.

Schuldig entered the living room, looking around hastily before making to move to the next part of the apartment. It was then that a cool March breeze burst into the room, causing the curtains to billow out and revealing the open sliding glass door that led to the balcony.

The telepath reached out tentatively with his mind. He caught Yohji's flavor like a hunting dog caught a scent. That familiar essence, the ebb and flow of grief and, what was that? Schuldig plunged deeper, sunk into the cadence of Yohji's thoughts as he approached the balcony.

'Would have taken him out. Dancing. Drinking. Found some nice ladies, of age of course, to show him a good time.'

Schuldig felt more than heard a melodic chuckle from the blonde man. Yohji's shields weak as they admittedly were, felt particularly yielding and as the telepath stepped onto the balcony he quickly figured out why. Yohji leaned against the rail his hand dangling over the edge, holding a glass whose amber contents swished around precariously, threatening those who walked by seven floors below.

'Make our little chibi into a man,' his thoughts continued wistfully. Schuldig found that that usually sweet honey taste was made bitter by the poison of cheap alcohol.

Schuldig watched Yohji for a moment, watched the slight arch in his back as the tall man hunched over to lean on the rail, watched the way the light breeze lifted his fair hair, watched the tension in long limbs seep out with another drink. Yohji's thoughts tasted bittersweet.

"Yohji," Schuldig called out softly. He sent tendrils of comfort out, not wanting to startle the other man.

"Schu."

Yohji turned, fluid, as if an image from a dream. He smiled a bright, heart-stopping smile, before he slumped to a sitting position on the floor of the balcony.

"Schu, have a drink with me," he begged, his expression inviting. Schuldig imagined it was that look that had charmed a thousand ladies, and perhaps a fair number of guys, before him. Schuldig obliged, closing the sliding doors behind him and crouching down on the floor across from Yohji.

"It's a celebration," the blonde continued.

"What are we celebrating?" Schuldig asked carefully. The other mans thoughts were particularly loud and Schuldig really didn't need to ask for an explanation to understand just what this scenario was all about, but he rather liked to hear Yohji's voice, especially after all the time they had spent together in silence.

Yohji was armed with two wine flutes that looked more expensive than the two bottles of alcohol he had also mysteriously procured. He filled one glass to nearly overflowing, toasted to the sky, before offering it to Schuldig with an unsteady hand.

"Omi's 18th birthday. It would have been today." His voice took on a sudden sober tone. "Me and Ken had all these great plans. But the main one was to get him really, really drunk. And then take lots of incriminating video footage."

Schuldig had to chuckle at that which sent Yohji into a fit of golden laughter. They sat for a while after in companionable silence, sipping their drinks.

"So I thought," Yohji continued after a moment, "I should do it anyway, you know. I couldn't let the day just pass without notice. The extra glass was supposed to be for Omittchi, but," and here he leaned in conspiratorially. "He's a lightweight anyway. So he won't mind sharing with you."

Schuldig snickered, finishing off his glass with a long swallow and pouring himself another. "Don't be so sure. I bet Tsukiyono would mind very much sharing with me, big scary bad guy that I am."

"Omi had a good heart. He could see the good in anyone." Schuldig wasn't sure if he heard or invented the "even you" at the end of that sentence but suddenly that balcony felt very small.

"Even after what we did to his precious Ouka?" Schuldig all but growled. "Do you think he'd still nominate me for sainthood then? Don't kid yourself Kudoh, he'd kill me on sight."

But Yohji's face remained the same and his thoughts remained calm as he swirled his drink around again.

"We used to think about you guys, you know. It was like a game, 'What's Schwartz Doing Now?' Well, Aya didn't play, he thought it was silly."

"I bet," Schuldig cut in.

"I mean, four assassins living in one house, just like us. Did you fight over the bathroom like we did? Who did the dishes? The laundry? Who took out the trash? We're not so different, I think. You said it yourself."

"What are you getting at?" Schuldig frowned not liking the memory Yohji conjured up with that statement.

Yohji poured Schuldig another drink in "Omi's" glass.

"I'm just saying, do you think Omi never killed anyone's sister. How many sisters or mothers or daughters have I killed? How many lovers? I think about that all the time. It haunts me along with who knows how many ghost faces. Asuka's. Aya's."

Schuldig listened to this a moment, gulped his drink down in one quick motion. He was feeling it now, warm, hazy, comfortable sitting here across from Yohji, his former enemy.

"Nagi and Crawford do most of the cleaning."

Yohji immediately perked up at this admission as though he was hearing the juiciest piece of celebrity gossip.

"Crawford likes everything to be neat. He's kind of OCD about it, actually."

"Meticulous," Yohji supplied.

"Definitely meticulous," Schuldig chuckled. "Nagi just gets aggravated when me and Farf don't pick up after ourselves and does it for us."

"Farf?"

"Farfarello," The german explained.

"Oh, you mean Berserker."

"Farfarello," there was a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Anyway, none of us our very good cooks. We order out a lot."

Yohji looked amused. "Same here. Typical bachelors. Ken was the worst. There was a point when Omi wouldn't even let him into the kitchen for fear he'd try to cook us something."

"I never pegged Hidaka to be the five-star chef of the place."

"He certainly wasn't."

Yohji launched eagerly into a story about when Ken had managed to give them all food poisoning and the rather unpleasant chaos that had ensued for one particularly memorable weekend. Schuldig easily topped him with a story of one of Farf's furry kills that had found its way into their freezer and had very nearly become part of a stew.

They went on like this for sometime trading back and forth stories of times passed, when Schuldig amused by the audacity of Weiss' imaginings about his teams daily life asked, "What else did you guys wonder about us?"

Yohji, who was beginning to be quite flushed from the bounty of the near-finished bottle answered with a school girl-esque giggle, "sex."

Schuldig barked with laughter. "Oh? What do you mean exactly?"

"You know." Yohji couldn't stop giggling. "Like how did you do it?"

"How did we have sex? Surely, Yohji, you know about the birds and the bees."

Yohji swatted him. "C'mon, you know what I mean, Schu. Like I bet Farfarello was a real freak."

"Actually, he can be quite sensual," Schuldig replied with a smirk. He loved shocking people and the way Yohji's eyes bulged at this suggestion was delicious. Schuldig laughed out loud as he listened to Yohji slowly piece this information together.

"I don't want to know," Yohji cried as it finally clicked. He put his hands up in defense but the mental images he was rapidly producing and projecting to the telepath did not do well to back up such a claim. Yohji looked good with a fine blush creeping up on his cheeks.

Schuldig chuckled somewhat sinisterly, quite enjoying this game. "What can I say? I like a little adventure. No one wants to have dull sex. I bet Fujimiya was pretty feisty, huh?"

Schuldig felt more than saw the exact moment when Yohji's face fell. The playful gleam left his eyes and the air lost the buzz of drunken camaraderie replaced only by a long uncomfortable silence. Yohji looked away, trying and failing to school his face into one of ambivalence.

The german frowned as he watched this struggle, slowly realizing just what he had done wrong. He silently scolded himself as he began gathering the bottles and cups from the balcony floor, sensing that the moment had passed. Yohji remained heartbreakingly silent as he did so.

"Yohji?" Schuldig attempted carefully. "We should go inside. It's getting cold out here."

Schuldig maneuvered his way through the window and back into the apartment. As he set down the glasses onto their new coffeetable so consumed was he in self-recrimination that he didn't notice the other man's presence til he wrapped his arms around him from behind.

"Yohji?" Schuldig ventured. When know reply was forthcoming Schuldig plunged into the blonde's pliant mind. What he found their took his breath away.

Visions, no, more like memories, ran through Yohji's head of Aya Fujimiya naked, aroused, his body tensed in orgasm. Weiss's deadly redhead had never looked so good as in Yohji's hazy memories, his back arched with passion, sweat dripping down his bare chest from exertion, his lips flushed and parted just so. Schuldig had to pull back quick so intense was Yohji's passion.

But as he did he brushed against something else, some other vision. This one was more vague, more hazy and featured someone else entirely. Schuldig was shocked to see himself in the recesses of Yohji's mind, looking just as sexy as Aya had in such a submissive position.

"What are you doing?" Schuldig moaned as he snapped back to reality. He could feel his blood flowing hot in the places where Yohji was pressed against him. He could feel the shorter man's arousal pushing on the back of his leg with an eagerness that matched his own. Schuldig turned around to look Yohji in the eye. "What are you doing to me?"

Yohji rested his head on Schuldig's shoulder, pulling him tightly.

"I keep forgetting that they're not here anymore. I keep getting lost in time," Yohji slurred as he ran his hands over Schuldig's back desperately. "I need you to keep me here. Fuck me and keep me here Schu."

Fuck, Schuldig reminded himself as he began removing his jeans, lowering them both to the uncarpeted floor. No illusions there, they weren't just having sex and they were by no means making love. No love, he repeated in his head like a mantra. No love.

Yohji looked so good, his blonde hair splayed out on the floor against the glazed wood, his face only half illuminated from the city lights streaming through the window. He looked fuckable. But then he had to go and ruin it all by smiling up at Schuldig, by letting that faint hint of affection grow equal with his lust, almost surpassing it.

"Come on, Schu," those kissable lips murmured and Schuldig knew it was his undoing. He pulled Yohji up from the floor without any of his usual roughness.

Yohji looked confused. "What are you doing?"

Silently, Schuldig led Yohji to the bedroom, closing the door softly behind them. He lay on the bed, doing his best to look just as harmless as he had in Yohji's imagination. It made him bristle a bit to not be in control but he waited calmly, patiently for Yohji to approach him, to finally catch on to what he was suggesting they do.

"Are you sure?" Yohji asked as he edged closer to the German.

"I want you to trust me," Schuldig replied before he could stop the words from coming out. Once they had escaped he felt a weight coming off his chest he hadn't noticed had settled there. Perhaps it had been there for a long time.

"I want to keep you here," Schuldig continued. "But I want you to want to stay."

Yohji looked like a large cat stalking its prey as he crawled up the bed towards Schuldig, crouching over him, considering.

"Mine," Yohji purred contentedly, before rolling Schuldig over.


	7. Chapter Six

A/N - just when you thought id disappeared for good got inspired at 3am and said fuck writer's block so sorry if the ending is garbled and horrible. atleast we're getting into the real meat of the story finally ...

**The Rising Tide**

Chapter Six

_"I will write this down for you so you can read it"_

Miss America - Something Corporate

xxx THREE YEARS LATER xxx

"I want it to be something having to do with nature. Flowers, maybe?"

Minako was immersed in the pages of the book on her lap, her fake, extension-enhanced blonde hair formed an unnaturally wavy halo around her. Yohji couldn't see her face behind this artificial shield but he knew she was smiling.

"Hanae, if it's a girl," Yohji supplied. He had his head in her refrigerator, rifling around a moment before discovering his prize. Yohji returned to the living room with a cool can of beer.

Minako looked up at the sound of the can popping open. "Share?" she joked.

"Yeah right," Yohji replied taking a seat across from her.

"It's going to be a boy anyway."

"And you want to give him a flower name?" Yohji looked at the girl with a skepticism softened by fondness. "Besides isn't it a little early to tell?"

"A mother knows these things." Minako jumped to her feet suddenly, pulling her shirt tight against her petite body. "Am I showing yet?"

"No, and you weren't showing an hour ago when you last asked so sit down."

Minako stuck her tongue out at Yohji before picking up her baby name book and taking her seat.

"Yohji-kun, you're a big grump. No reason to take it out on me just cause you miss Schu-kun."

Yohji frowned somewhat darkly at the mention of his absent lover. He avoided the blonde girl's eyes, in favor of playing with the tab on his can.

Minako frowned at this. "When _is_ Schu coming home?"

"He was supposed to be back last night but they added a few more shows to his tour. I don't know when he'll be home."

The other blonde nodded sympathetically before returning to her reading.

Minako Katsumi was an attractive girl. A vivacious, effervescent bleach blonde, Minako had immediately been drawn to Yohji and vice versa since the day she had moved in next door to the two assassins. Schuldig had been gone on a lot of Schwartz business he refused to speak about and Yohji, stuck in the apartment all day, had reached out for the only kind face in a building filled with souls laden with secrets. It had helped that that face was a pretty female one.

Minako was dependant and demanding, a natural gossip and a flirt, she owned more belly-baring shirts than even Yohji and always had plenty of alcohol in her fridge. Needless to say they were instant friends. She was the kind of perky, scatterbrained girl Asuka would have hated and for some reason this made her safe. She did not call up any dangerous memories of the past.

"Why not name him Jiro Junior." Yohji supplied in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"I could call him Yohji Junior," she quipped. "Jiro would love that."

Jiro Shoda was a married man, Minako his mistress. He had put her up in the expensive apartment with promises of leaving his homely wife and bratty kids, but it was nearing two years since Minako had moved in and all she had to show for it was a ring from Tiffany's. Minako seemed to think that her pregnancy would change things but Yohji was quietly skeptical. It was not that he had any real cause to dislike the businessman; Jiro was certainly handsome and seemed genuinely fond of Minako, but in his own silent way Jiro always seemed to distrust Yohji's presence and the detective in Yohji, in turn, sensed something about him that was not quite right.

"So would Schu," Yohji replied not missing a beat. Minako giggled at the reference.

Minako and Yohji had stood in Yohji's bathroom just the week before in shared nervous anticipation. The pregnancy test sat in the sink and the two blondes stood heads together staring down at it as a smiley face slowly appeared as their answer.

"What does that mean?" Minako asked, screwing up her face in a pretty confusion.

"I think, you're pregnant."

"I'm pregnant? I'm pregnant!" The girl had jumped up and down in exuberant celebration declaring this statement at the top of her lungs. At just that moment Schuldig burst into the bathroom scowling.

"Yohji," he ground out between clenched teeth. "It better not be yours."

The two blondes fell to the floor so great was their laughter and Schuldig flipped them both the finger before returning to his room to pack.

Yohji smiled privately remembering the encounter that occurred after Minako had left.

"Schu, you know you're the only one for me, don't you," Yohji had whispered into the telepaths ear, wrapping his arms around him from behind. "You're the only one I want. The only one I've been with."

The bed was covered with clothes Schuldig had yet to pack but they fell down on to it anyway, lips locked and limbs entangled. Yohji had divested his lover of shirt and pants, licking his way down the redhead's chest until he reached his goal, once there he wrapped his lips around the prize. Schuldig had moaned like never before, gripping the sheets 'til his knuckles turned pale. Yohji moved up then down, painfully slow, his tongue working, teasing, Schuldig's back arching into orgasm. At that moment Yohji was sure the words were on Schuldig's lips but they did not escape. Schuldig left the next morning. A note was by the bed that read "you're my only one too" in the German's hasty scrawl. It was as close to an 'I love you' as the Japanese man had ever gotten in the past three years that they had shared an apartment and a bed.

"What about Ran?"

Yohji was pulled so violently from his reverie that he almost spilt his beer. He had to swallow the last remnants of the can before he could answer with a desperate, "excuse me?"

"Ran. It's right here in the book," Minako explained. "It says it means 'orchid.'"

"Oh."

"And that's a pretty masculine sounding name, don't you think?"

"Yeah. Definitely."

Yohji stood on wobbly legs, heading again to the kitchen to pull out another beer from the fridge.

"Hey," Minako admonished playfully, "stop stealing all my alcohol."

"You can't fucking drink them anyway," Yohji snapped. He roughly opened the tab, draining half the can in a frantic chug. When he lowered his hand Minako's hurt frown came into view.

"I'm sorry, Mina-chan," he apologized, taking his seat once more. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I guess you're right, I am kind of grumpy without Schu here."

"If you don't like the name, I can pick another," she offered, surprising him with her perceptiveness. It had been nearly 3 years. Had he had such a violent reaction to that name that even the ever-distracted Minako had noticed?

Yohji sighed self-deprecatingly. "It doesn't matter what I think, Mina."

"Of course it matters!" She declared passionately. "You're my best friend Yohji-kun, you're going to be around my baby all the time. I want you and Schu to be the god-parents. You most certainly have a say in the name."

Yohji laughed at her exuberance. In another life, he sometimes thought, he would have married a girl like her so she could fill all his days with this sort of high spiritedness and it was obvious she had a crush on him. But in this reality Yohji never mentioned that he was an assassin and Minako never spoke of her days turning tricks before Jiro and they both kept their dirtied hands to themselves.

"So am I the godmother or is Schu?"

"Please Yohji-kun," Minako said, a dangerous glint in her eye. "I don't need to know about your private lives."

Over the frames of Schuldig's sunglasses, Yohji gave Minako an equally dangerous wink.

"So how about some girl's names, hmm? Just in case your mother's intuition is wrong."

Schuldig followed the thin young man into his apartment. 'Young man,' Schuldig considered, 'more like little boy.' Yet his arms were littered with scars clearly inflicted by years of abuse from hypodermic needles and he lived in that rathole of an apartment alone, so he must have been a man.

He led Schuldig through the rooms without turning on any lights and as he reached the bed he turned, palm outstretched and said, "money first," with all the enthusiasm one could muster at 3am after just shooting up.

He was a blonde and Schuldig had acquired a recent fondness for blondes and so he winced just a little as he handed him the bills.

The boy began to remove his clothes until his thin pale frame was fully exposed.

"How do you want it, mate?"

"Whatever," Schuldig answered in his limited English.

The boy gave him the first grin Schuldig had seen from him. He had a pretty face, Schuldig decided.

The blonde got on his knees, working quickly to unzip the German's pants. Schuldig felt his erection stir to life as he looked down at the head by his crotch, remembering the last blow job he had gotten a week before.

The boy's numb fingers seemed to have difficulty undoing the button of the pants and as he struggled, Schuldig slipped easily into his mind. He wasn't too fond of exploring the thoughts of a heroin addict on a high, but at least there was no resistance in finding what he was looking for.

Just as the boy unleashed Schuldig's penis, the bullet ripped through his head, sending him sprawling to the ground in a spray of blood.

"Jesus, Crawford!" Schu cried, quickly tucking himself back in. "A little close don't you think?"

Brad Crawford immerged from the shadows of the room, smoking gun in hand.

"Did you get the codes?"

"Yeah, I got 'em."

Crawford smirked darkly. "Then stop whining."

Schuldig snatched his money back out of the boy's pocket before following Crawford out into the living room. Nagi sat at the recently deceased man's computer, Farfarello guarded the front door. Schuldig fed Nagi the access code he had been waiting for.

"I'm in," Nagi declared, quickly uploading the information he needed onto his own laptop.

Schwartz was in Crawford's dark car and driving away in a matter of minutes, mission executed, for lack of a better term. They blended into the night and in so doing their act of crime would go completely undetected, like their sleek black sports car, a mere blip in the radar of the inky streets.

Schuldig watched the London scenery pass by with an apathy that bordered on hate. He had seen it all in the week that they had been there and in his opinion a week was seven days too long. He missed his kitten, dammit.

"Stop sulking," Crawford chided, catching the younger man's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Shut the fuck up, Crawford. I'm not sulking." Schuldig underscored this statement with a pathetic pout.

There was that goddamned snarky grin again. And it was a grin. Crawford frequently grinned, he never smiled. But even this upturning of his thin lips was brief, giving way to a look that bordered on anxious. Schuldig might not have been capable of reading Crawford's mind but as a telepath he was naturally intuitive and he could tell that something was plaguing the thoughts of Schwartz's leader. Something terrible.

"Brad?" Schuldig began but even the use of his first name was not enough to stir the deep frown on the American's face. "Brad?"

Crawford's mouth opened as if he were going to answer but Schuldig watched as no words escaped. Instead Crawford clamped his lips tightly together and hit the brakes so violently that Schuldig smacked into the seat in front of him. He belatedly wished he had been wearing his seatbelt but spared little time on this thought as Crawford's voice finally rang out: "Schuldig. Duck."

The bullet skimmed just over Schuldig's head as he moved to avoid it. It continued on, ripped through the headrest in front of Schuldig with ease and stopped mid-air just inches from the nape of Nagi's neck. It lingered in the air a moment, then fell, harmless. The next barrage of bullets found Schwartz running through the dark alleyways of London, car abandoned.

Their unknown enemy pursued. Schwartz split up easily without a glance back at eachother, taking different winding routes into the night. Schuldig could practically feel the wind of the bullets on his heels they were that close. It was if, Schuldig calculated, ducking down one urine scented alley, then another, it was if the enemy knew where he was going before he did. Or, and this thought came as he shouldered down the boarded up door of an empty building, it was as if they knew _as_ he did.

Schuldig crouched low, keeping to the shadows of the abandoned room he'd found himself in. Some kind of old store he surmised but he didn't spare another moment to consider this. Instead he reached out the tendrils of his powers to the minds of his predator. He was met by a thick mental wall that despite his prodding was proving impenetrable. How curious.

In turn Schuldig bolstered up his own mental wall, sinking ever deeper into the shadows. He focused on making them just as solid as the ones he'd just encountered and watched with a bitter satisfaction as shadowy figure ran past the entrance of the store, never even considering looking in.

Schuldig nearly pissed himself when a hand clapped his shoulder. He whirled ready to attack. Brad Crawford appeared from behind a display case, a rivulet of blood running from his temple.

"Shit," Schuldig hissed in a sharp intake of breathe. "You're hurt."

Crawford shrugged as best he could in a crouching position. "It just grazed me. Don't be so sentimental"

"Fuck you Brad! You better tell me what the fuck is going on. I know you know more than you've been telling us."

Crawford sighed. He looked out into the light towards the store front and Schuldig, graced by his leader's profile, noticed some wrinkles that he hadn't ever noticed there before.

"We've made an enemy."

The German snorted. "So? We make tons of enemies."

Crawford's voice was tight. "Then, we've made a nemesis."

"I hate it when you talk in fucking riddles—"

"I mean it." Crawford barked the words and Schuldig half expected the night to erupt in gun shots again but it retained its eerie silence making what the American had said sound even harsher. Everything in the room seemed to stand still as it awaited Crawford's next words; the cobwebs, the broken glass, the shelves half torn down, the overturned buckets and discarded hoses all vibrated with tension.

"I mean it," he repeated, quieter, calmer. "They are seeking their revenge. This time we won't be so lucky. This time we might not be the ones to drag ourselves out of the tide unscathed."

"SS?" Schuldig spat like a curse. He received no reply.

"Some things are going to have to change," Crawford went on. "Or be sacrificed."

Crawford rose and Schuldig scurried to follow suit. They headed calmly for the door as if the threat had never been at all.

"We can discuss this on the plane. For now let's get the hell out of London."

"Amen to that," Schuldig quipped. But he couldn't help the shiver that went down his spine and it was only later that he would consider the irony of these revelations coming in an abandoned flower shop.


	8. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz. I also don't own the song bits at the beginning of each chapter. They are all from various Something Corporate songs.

A/N: Hot silly man sex. And..is that…plot? No, no, of course not. More eventually. Don't give up on me. I accept large donations and also comments.

**The Rising Tide**

Chapter Seven

"Destiny gets nervous & you're my good feeling"

She Paints Me Blue – Something Corporate

Schuldig paused at the door to the apartment building's roof. He grimaced, not liking the sinking, slimy feeling that had settled at the base of his stomach. Either it was from the awful airline food or it was from guilt. Schuldig preferred to pretend it was the former. He knew that when he'd open the door, sunlight would flood into the unlit narrow corridor and he much liked keeping in the dark. It was a shame that this sunny Japanese spring day wasn't in keeping with his dark mood. It had been consistently gloomy in England and that had been the only thing the assassin had enjoyed about being abroad. Nice weather always made him think of a storm brewing just beyond the horizon. And it was coming, if not now, then soon. Schuldig pushed open the door and the storm inched closer.

The expanse of the roof didn't allow the sound of the door opening to carry and so it did not disturb the two blondes standing together on the other side. Schuldig took in the scene with a bitter smile. Minako and Yohji were surrounded by rows of potted plants, a small shed loomed behind them. Yohji stood hose in hand, half-heartedly watering some flowers. He was leaning in towards Minako in an irresitable sort of way, saying something that made the girl blush a deeper red than the rosebuds around her. Schuldig knew that if pulling his wire was second nature for Yohji then seducing a woman was first nature. He hated to ruin this moment.

Schuldig only needed to take a few steps onto the roof before Yohji's head whipped around. A few more steps and his arms were full of tall handsome Japanese man. Schuldig buried his head in silky blonde hair. Had it grown longer? In only a week? They embraced for what felt like forever, still it felt too soon when Yohji finally did pull away.

"You're home!" Yohji gushed.

"Way to state the obvious." Schuldig quipped. "It's nice to see you too, Kudoh."

Minako waved from just beyond Yohji's shoulder. She looked just as happy to see him as Yohji did.

"How was your trip? Bring me anything?" Yohji pecked him on the cheek. It was an unsually couple-y move but Schuldig made no mention of it.

Schuldig glossed over the topic breezily. "Same old, same old. What are you two up to around here?" He didn't need to ask of course he already knew they were puttering around in the makeshift garden the building's owner had grudgingly allowed Yohji to start on the roof.

Yohji gave him a look that said he'd noticed Schuldig's strategy but the German was saved when Minako eagerly butted in.

"Yohji's showing me his buds."

"Oh really," Schuldig smirked, engaging the girl. Yohji rolled his eyes as he headed over to turn off the hose he'd discarded in his haste to greet his lover.

"He's been miserable without you," Minako said in what she thought was a conspiratorial tone.

Schuldig watched a moment, thoughtful, as Yohji walked back across the roof, all radiance and confidence and a relaxed cheer. But a quick peek in his mind revealed the anxious need to wrap up his German lover in his waiting arms and never let him go.

"You better not stay gone for too long," Minako advised with a wink.

"I'm all done up here." Yohji wiped dirt of his hands as he approached, leading the way to the heavy door. "Are you hungry Schu? There's some take out left in the fridge, I think."

They descended the stairs back to the eighth floor. At the door Minako waved them a cheery goodbye.

"I better go wash up. Jiro's coming over for dinner soon."

Yohji gave her his most wicked smile. "Tell him to man up and bring you some flowers already."

"We can't all be cute little lovebirds like you two." Minako blew them a kiss before disappearing into her apartment.

"Lovebirds?" Schuldig asked with a gag.

"Shut up," the Japanese man replied, giving his lover a playful shove into their apartment. The door had barely slam shut before Yohji's lips found Schuldig's.

Yes, this is what the German had missed the most, these deep dangerous penetrating kisses. He slipped off Yohji's shirt just as easily as he slipped into his mind. He couldn't help but moan as he found himself surrounded by the taste of honey. As a telepath, Schuldig found that he had to force his way into the deeper recesses of most people's minds. This was not the case for Yohji; his lover's mind was always open to him, practically welcoming him, brimming over with trust.

Trust.

The word made Schuldig yank himself so forcefully out of Yohji's mind that he was certain he'd leave them both with a migraine.

"What the fuck?" Yohji exclaimed, more in surprise than anger.

"Sorry," Schuldig was already prepared with a sheepish grin and a mouth full of lies. More lies.

Yohji rubbed at his temples. "What was that?"

"I pulled out too quick." Schuldig playfully leered.

Yohji was quick to forgive, saying, with a chuckle, "just be more careful next time." He leaned in to continue where they had left off but again Schuldig shifted away.

"Uh, about that takeout." It was funny how easily the excuses came to his head, but all of them came with a sickening taste and someone whispering 'guilty, guilty, guilty.' "I'm pretty hungry, actually."

Yohji's face contorted into handsome confusion. Schu, he knew, would never turn down sex for something as trivial as food. But he didn't question, he was just glad to have his lover home and he headed off to the kitchen with promises of a hearty lunch.

Schuldig watched Yohji go, sending out slight mental bolts to ease his lovers hesitation.

"I barely ate anything on the plane," the telepath called after him, imitating cheer.

This statement, Schuldig realized with a chuckle that tasted like acid, was actually pretty true. Who could eat with the things that were being revealed, toppling out one after the other to fill his empty stomach with nauseous guilt? With Yohji out of sight, Schuldig lay down on the couch, suddenly dizzy, suddenly too sick with all that revelation. All of this, he knew, could soon be nothing.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Nagi all but growled. Schuldig allowed himself to laugh quietly at this. Lately, Nagi had become, for lack of a better term, teenaged; his quiet countenance was occasionally cracked so that his directionless angst was allowed to seep out. When had the boy started growing up? Schuldig regretted a bit that he hadn't noticed before. Now it would be too late to really enjoy it.

Nagi's exclamation hung in the stale air of the empty plane so long that the three assassins waiting for a response to it began to wonder if it had ever been uttered at all. Finally Crawford, standing before them in the aisle, heaved a sigh and spoke:

"How do you tell a team of assassins that they're going to die?"

Farfarello shrugged in twisted sympathy.

"Bullshit," Schuldig said around a sharp laugh. "Your visions are wrong. Your heads fucked or something. I thought you said you couldn't foresee deaths?"

"A precog can't foresee his own death," Crawford explained too patiently. "But my death, well, I assume it comes about through similar ends as yours do."

"And how exactly is that?" Nagi snapped almost too quietly to be heard.

"A building collapses on us."

Schuldig barked out a laugh even he knew sounded hysterical. "Now I know you've got your wires crossed. Been there, done that remember?"

"That's exactly it. This coalition, this faction, whatever it is, they want to finish the job that was started three years ago. And each day they get closer to their goal." Crawford began to pace up and down the aisle. He stopped suddenly, slamming his fist down hard on the headrest of an empty chair sending dust motes racing out.

"Who are they?" Schuldig could sense the anxiety that had settled in Nagi's throat, even if his voice didn't betray it. The boy, who'd recently enjoyed a late growth spurt, still managed to look young and small and sorrowful in the enormous jetliner chair.

"Leftover SS, it would appear."

"So we take them before they take us," Schuldig demanded. "We got those fuckers once before and we're stronger now—"

"Things have changed. They're operating under some new leader or leaders. And they're smarter than before. The new SS is not concerned with dredging up the past. Instead they're focus is on the future."

Schuldig was drowning in the trepidation in the air and it made him tense. He jumped to his feet, stood in the aisle, toe to toe with Brad Crawford himself. "I'm tired of all these goddamn riddles." He said, pointing his finger like a mother reprimanding a naughty child. "I'm tired of following you around the whole goddamn world on secret missions. Spit it the fuck out, Brad!"

Crawford didn't even flinch as he told it. "Apparently, we were being used by SS all along. Even when we thought we'd won. We were their best team and they wanted to replicate us. So they studied what made us powerful, what made us unstoppable. And then they imitated it the best they could."

"What does that mean?" But Schuldig already knew. He felt it in that English alley, a too familiar mind brushing past his.

"That means technology, Schuldig. They've got some way, some chip or something that they can implant in any latent mind to make one hundred, one thousand, or one million civilians with telekinesis, precognition or telepathy. And they can just as easily make a mind that can't be read or envisioned. We're fighting an army of ourselves."

Schuldig pushed the food around on his plate, making slimy sad looking trails. His dinner got less appetizing the more he played with it. He stared down at it, demanding answers and so was startled when it was yanked from his line of sight.

"Hey, I was still eating that."

"No, no you weren't," Yohji answered deadpan, tossing the dish unceremoniously into the sink. He turned and stood with his hands on his hips and looked like someone's angry mother. Schuldig had to let the smirk play out on his lips, just a little.

"What's the matter with you? You've been acting spacey ever since you got back."

"I've only been back an hour, Kudoh."

"An hour's all I need to tell something's up."

'Ever the little detective, aren't you?' Yohji jumped as the thought snaked through his mind. Even after three years, Schuldig considered, the Japanese man was still not used to a foreign voice in his head. The sensation still managed to conjure up thoughts of enemies, of invasions. Telepathy, he supposed, would always make Yohji think of Mastermind instead of Schu.

"You're a little shit, do you know that?" Yohji said, but he let a smile sneak in to soften the words.

"I'm sorry, Yohji." Schuldig sighed he looked down at the linoleum floor. It glared back up at him with its shiny gleam of domesticity. So it had come to his, it seemed to say, Schuldig, the big bad villain was reduced to apologizing. Guilty, indeed.

"For what?" Yohji leaned against the sink, somehow simultaneously languorous and apprehensive.

"Crawford…" And it was on the tip of his tongue, the truth was, ready to spill out his burden at Yohji's waiting feet. But Schuldig gulped it back down. He had learned years ago that it was always easier to lie, at least at the time, than it was to tell the truth. "Crawford says there's another mission. We have to leave tomorrow night."

"Overseas?"

Schuldig nodded. "Just for a couple days."

"Well that's alright then," Yohji replied, allowing his relief to be apparent. "That I can deal with. I'll be here when you get back."

"Will you?" Schuldig quipped flirtatiously.

"You know I will." Yohji approached, hips jutted out. "And you know the best part of you always going away on missions?"

"What?"

Yohji bent down to whisper in Schuldig ear. His breath caressed Schuldig's skin, stirring up an instant excitement.

"The best part is always getting to say goodbye."

Schuldig allowed himself a lecherous grin.

"Maybe we should start saying goodbye now?"

Schuldig hooked his fingers in Yohji's belt loops, pulling him closer.

"Very good idea," Yohji moaned as Schuldig unzipped his jeans, yanked them down to fall around his ankles. Yohji kicked them off with finesse. Boxer briefs followed flung across the linoleum.

Schuldig grabbed a handful of blonde hair, pulling the Japanese man's head close to his so that their mouths mashed together in a fierce kiss. Yohji nipped a little at Schuldig's lower lip before, slowly urging him to turn around in his chair. Schuldig happily obliged, knees on the seat cushion, his hands splayed on the kitchen table, he let Yohji divest him of pants and underwear.

They were unprepared but Yohji, always creative, was one step ahead, his tongue darting out between tight mounds, and Schuldig arched his back and moaned loud enough, certainly, for Minako and her dinner date to hear. Yohji slid his hands across tight abs, over coiled patch of red hair and towards Schuldig's aching erection, squeezing lightly, stroking incessantly. Once he felt his lover had been tortured enough, Yohji pushed himself up against Schuldig's back and began entering him dangerously slow. Schuldig let out a few choice words in German.

"Do you like that?" Yohji asked knowing full well the answer.

Schuldig could only nod.

"There's more," the Japanese man whispered before giving a quick, sharp thrust.

"There's more," Crawford said.

He had removed his glasses now, was rubbing the place between his eyes where Schuldig often warned him he would get wrinkles. But the German man didn't mention that this time, instead he took his seat again on the plane, flopping down into it as though all his bones had suddenly crumbled. And there he sat and waited for the next blow.

Crawford was looking straight at him in an intense, meaningful way which usually didn't mean much coming from Crawford but this time that gaze was peppered with a nervousness that was becoming all too familiar.

"It seems like the new SS's is being met with resistance from various alliances cropping up around the world. Maybe not enough to do any real damage but enough at least to slow them down. One of those groups is Kritiker."

"Déjà vu," Schuldig muttered with a bitter smirk. "They weren't much use the first time around either."

Crawford replaced his glasses with slow finesse, demonstrating a cool-under-pressure he probably didn't feel.

"Still it might be beneficial for us to utilize what strengths they do provide," Nagi began trying to guess at what Crawford was implying. The leader nodded encouragingly.

Farfarello sang out, "I will be an enemy unto thine enemies and an adversary unto thine adversaries."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Nagi supplied.

"For now we'll shadow Kritiker's activities. Their agents are dispersed in London, in Germany, and in Japan."

"I have low expectations," Schuldig cut in dismally. "Those bastards at Kritiker are always running around with their heads up their asses, feeding their agents some bullshit doctrine of morality. They can't get the job done."

Crawford tilted his head to regard Schuldig. His glasses gleamed in the artificial plane light.

"There's one team I've got a particular faith in."

"Who?"

Crawford said, "Weiss."

Schuldig was confused, concerned, his stomach gave an abrupt twist. He didn't hear the name much anymore, Weiss, except when Yohji moaned in his sleep. Still Schuldig kept his face neutral. "Kritiker has a new team?"

"Not new, Schuldig, but reformed. Comprised of agents Abyssinian, Bombay, Siberian. A three person team."

Now Schuldig let his lips part a little, allowed himself a sharp intake of breath.

"But," he murmured and then stopped, collected his thoughts, started again. "But they're dead. Weiss is dead, except for…"

"According to the information we were able to obtain in London, Weiss's current members are alive. They are an active team of three members currently based in Japan. SS's records don't say much more than that. They list the fourth former member, Balinese, as missing and unaccounted for."

Schuldig took a moment, a long moment, to process this. Crawford's proclamation hung in the air, trapped in static until finally Schuldig managed to push something out of his jumbled thoughts.

"I checked. I checked for their minds, that day after the building collapsed, I checked and I got silence. Brad, they were dead. They had to be."

Crawford heaved a sigh, "I'm not certain how to account for this. The best answer I could formulate is that Kritiker has some kind of safe room, similar to the technology that SS is using against us now, something to protect against your ability to scan for them. I've turned it around in my—"

What angered Schuldig the most was that Crawford must have seen the punch coming. Schuldig surged up from his chair. Using this momentum he sent his fist directly at Crawford's face. Crawford staggered back but didn't fall, taking the punch with his usual stoic grace. But his glasses shattered upon impact.

"How long have you known?" Schuldig demanded. "And kept it from me? You filthy bastard. If you put Yohji in harm's way for your little ponderings, I swear to God, I swear on everything there is I will kill you before SS even gets the chance."

"I've known for some time," Crawford replied from behind broken frames.

"You selfish fuck!" Schuldig gave him a rough shove but Crawford's person, like his mind, was seemingly impenetrable.

"I assure you Balinese is not in any danger. Both SS and Kritiker seem to have concluded that he perished at the hands of the sea or worse."

Schuldig turned sharply, paced down the aisle as far as he could go. He felt like a caged animal on that god-awful plane, its burning revelations were his bars.

"What the fuck, Crawford?", he could only mutter.

Brad Crawford, for his part, continued as if nothing had occurred, as if Schuldig wasn't burning with rage and confusion at the opposite end of the aisle.

"We'll head to Germany tomorrow, to see how things look at that end. We'll try to stay away from SS headquarters. They seem to be anticipating our movements but for the time they don't seem inclined to strike. This will afford us some time to see what kind of resistance Kritiker is—"

"What am I supposed to tell Yohji?"

Crawford regarded him with an unblinking, unforgiving stare.

"I'd suggest you tell him absolutely nothing."

Yohji came first, letting out a long low moan the sound of which sent Schuldig over the edge too and he shot unrepentantly across the kitchen table. For a moment they slumped together against the dining chair echoing eachother's heavy breathing. For a precious moment there was calm in Schuldig's mind. Yohji jumped up suddenly.

"Jesus, Schu, that'll never come off the table." He turned hurrying to grab a dish towel but at the last moment Schuldig reached out and grabbed his wrist and yanked him back.

"Hey!" Yohiji exclaimed

"Easy there, Mr. Clean. I want to ask you something." Despite the joke Schuldig wore a serious expression that gave Yohji pause.

"What is it?"

"Are you happy here? With me?"

Yohji frowned cautiously. "You know I am, Schu."

"Do you mean that?"

Schuldig never allowed himself this kind of vulnerability and his heart pounded a sick beat in his chest. How selfish was he if he trapped Yohji in this house, allowing him to believe that the team, no, the family, that he loved so much was alive somewhere out there. Schuldig used to pride himself on his selfishness, but now, well, now he needed the answer to this question if he was going to proceed with any semblance of self-respect.

He felt Yohji think about the question, really think about it and a sharp pain tore through Schuldig's gut when he saw the image of Asuka and then Aya pass by, but soon they faded away and Yohji wore a pure grin.

"I don't think I could imagine being any happier than at this moment."

Schuldig wasn't certain if he should accept that as an answer. Perhaps his mouth parted and he began to speak the truth but just at that moment Yohji swooped in and pecked him chastely, but genuinely on the lips.

"Now, can I clean the goddamn table already?"

"Gee Kudoh, do you wanna put on your apron first?"

"Oh, fuck you."

"You already did."

"Well maybe I'll do it again."

"I doubt that."

Yohji decided to take this as a personal challenge and Schuldig decided that for the time being bliss would have to go hand in hand with ignorance.


	9. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz. I also don't own the song bits at the beginning of each chapter. They are all from various Something Corporate songs.

**The Rising Tide**

Chapter Eight

"The present's just a pleasant interruption to the past"

Konstantine – Something Corporate

Yohji had lied.

Schuldig had asked him if he was happy. And Yohji _was_ happy. He truly was, but he was also very, very bored. Yohji had never liked being bored, even as a young boy he had set himself up on little tasks, going on little adventures through the bad parts of his neighborhood (they were all bad parts) always playing the role of the junior detective. He had a knack for it even then, figuring out who had stolen so-and-so's baseball glove (sometimes the culprit was Yohji himself), trailing so-and-so's girlfriend to see if she was being unfaithful (she was, always with Yohji) and when he got older, spying on the local drug ring. Then Asuka had come along and they were the perfect partners in crime-fighting. And then, well, the rest was a sordid history.

From being a private eye to an assassin Yohji had always lived life on the edge. This coddled life in this luxury apartment, stories above the real world, it was all completely foreign. Most days Yohji didn't know what to do with himself. The first year had been rough, especially when Schuldig was away on Schwartz business. Without anything to keep him moving, Yohji found that his demons were quick to catch up with him. Now he was sure to keep himself busy, whether it was puttering around in his rooftop garden or helping Minako fix things around her apartment, Yohji couldn't let himself slow down. But slowly and surely that boredom was creeping in again.

Minako's pregnancy was the most exciting thing to happen in a long while. Yohji laughed to himself at the irony. Once his world had revolved around ending lives and now he was watching the beginning of one, even playing a major role in it. It was sort of an electrifying idea.

Yohji had said his goodbyes to Schuldig that morning and then had hurried up to his garden to keep himself from thinking too much. The flowers bobbed up to greet him, beginning to peer out from their buds, ready to embrace the spring. Yohji laughed to himself as he watered them, remembering how he had hated this task at the Koneko, preferring instead to brazenly flirt with the bright eyed school girls. Aya or Omi had been more inclined to take care of the flowers and they had flourished in a way that Yohji just could not imitate in his makeshift garden no matter how hard he tried. Sometimes he spent all day up there, watering and fertilizing and planting, not caring if thorns pricked at his skin, as though somehow he could atone for all his crimes against his friends, his family, if he could only grow flowers to live up to the standard of the Koneko no Sumi-ie .

But today Yohji settled for watering, confident somehow that the flowers would flourish on their own. Anyway, he had promised Minako that he would be down to hear all about her dinner with Jiro. The girl was convinced that now that she was carrying his child the business man would leave his wife and kids and marry her instead. Yohji had his doubts, but Minako was as delicate as the petals on a flower and he found himself hoping, for her sake, that all had gone well. After one last glance at his garden, Yohji rolled up his hose and headed for the stairs.

He paused at the entrance of the eighth floor, enjoying a back arcing, bone popping stretch, before continuing on down the hall way. His thoughts fluttered to Schuldig for a moment. Yohji's lover could be perfectly vague, partly because he forgot that not everyone could read minds but also in part because he simply loved being infuriating. But his departure that morning had been shrouded in unsettling mystery. Schuldig couldn't say when he would be back or what he was doing; all he said was that he would be in Germany on reconnaissance. He'd promised he'd be safe, kissed Yohji a little longer and a little gentler than usual and then disappeared out the door in a blur of orange. Yohji knew a mystery when he saw one, he was not to be cowed by Schu's excuses from the day before. Something was up. But for now all he could do was sigh and make his way towards Minako's door, which was, to his surprise, already open.

Yohji slowed down a bit, pausing to inspect the situation. A man stood at the door, his back to Yohji. The dark hair was in keeping with Jiro's, but this man was too short and far too muscular to be Minako's lover. Aside from that, the man at the doorway was wearing shorts, displaying tanned, well-defined calves, something the practical, reserved Jiro would never do on a cool spring day.

Yohji took a few steps closer, trying to peer over the man's shoulder. There Minako stood cradling a bouquet of flowers in her arms with the care she would someday soon use to hold her baby. With the other hand she was digging around in her jeans pocket, presumably looking for a tip to fill the outstretched hand of the delivery man before her. Yohji had only a moment to consider that the delivery man's arm was particular scarred and an even shorter moment to wonder at how the delivery man had gotten past all the security downstairs that usually intercepted even Chinese food, but his ponderings were disrupted when suddenly Minako looked up.

"Yohji!" She shrieked in delight. She practically pushed past the delivery man to run up to Yohji, jumping up and down wildly. "Oh Yohji! Jiro sent me flowers. He's never ever ever sent me flowers before! No one's ever sent me flowers before! Oh Yohji, they're absolutely beautiful. What are they?"

She held the bouquet up to his face, so that Yohji had to cross his eyes to look at them. When he realized what they were, he smiled.

"These are cattleya orchids."

Minako wrinkled her nose prettily. "They're gorgeous, but I don't know why he didn't just send roses."

Yohji looked over with the intent to share a sheepish grin with the delivery man but was instead met with a wide-mouthed stare. Yohji lowered his sunglasses to the tip of his nose just as the delivery man took in a sharp gasp and Yohji realized that he was staring into the face of a dead man.

"Yohji?" Minako voice sounded like a faraway echo. "What's the matter?"

Yohji stomach turned and he knew he'd gone pale if the alarmed tone Minako used was any indication. His legs felt like they'd refuse to hold him up a moment longer and he reached out a hand to the wall to steady himself from his swaying fear, from the sudden swell of hope that threatened to cause him to faint.

"It's you! It is you!" Ken Hidaka yelled, drowning out all thought, all reason, all logic and making for a shocked silence in Yohji's head. He might have taken a few staggering steps back but this apparition, this specter wearing shorts and a soccer jersey and an apron reading 'Koneko no Sumi-ie' stepped even closer. "Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ, it's you."

"Ken?" Yohji heard himself murmur. He wasn't sure if the word slipped out loud enough to be heard but it must have because the man in question broke out into the force of his full grin and bounded forward, crashing into the taller man for a bear hug.

"Yohji fucking Kudoh!" he exclaimed.

Yohji couldn't make himself hug back. The man who had wrapped himself around him was too real, Ken was too real with his oh-so-familiar scent of cut grass and deodorant, with his warm skin and beating heart and excited breath in Yohji's ear. They way he kept saying, "it's you, Jesus, it's you" was just too real and Yohji wriggled his way out of the hug with the fear that all of this was a dream that would quickly dissolve into a nightmare as all dreams had a tendency to do.

"Ken," he breathed again, when he could finally find the will to take in a breath and expel it as normal.

Minako stood a little ways away, still holding her bouquet dumbly, left to ask, "Do you guys know each other?"

"From another lifetime," Yohji managed to answer. He let out a little nervous laugh that was smothered with Ken's loud, excited one.

"You're okay! You're alive!" Ken exploded. "All this time. All this goddamn time. Jesus."

Yohji glanced at Minako, suddenly nervous, suddenly confused because this life in the highrise apartment was so vastly different from the one he had inhabited with Ken Hidaka and how were the two now sharing one plane of existence? His head was swimming, the hallway seemed to be growing ever narrower. He thought he might be sick.

Ken followed Yohji's glance, seeming to realize that Minako was present for the first time. His eyes narrowed a moment before he turned back to Yohji, suddenly calmer and more focused. "Come with me Yohji. Let's go somewhere, catch up, you can tell me everything."

Yohji nodded. Numb, he hurried to follow Ken Hidaka to the elevator, somehow afraid to let too much of a distance grow between them as though Ken would just disappear again.

"Wait! I didn't give you your tip!" Minako called.

"Keep it," Ken yelled back as he punched at the call button too many times. "I got something better."

When the elevator doors opened Ken hopped in but Yohji lingered a moment to glance at Minako who stood still watching them from down the hall. Her pretty face was marred by a deep frown and for a very brief moment Yohji thought about turning and running back down the hall to her, certain that wherever he was following Ken to would change everything, past, present and future. But instead he continued to step into the elevator, blowing Minako a quick kiss. She smiled but the worry never left her eyes. The elevator doors slid closed.

Yohji turned to find Ken staring at him with a grin.

"Look at you. You haven't changed a bit. Still a lady's man, huh."

The elevator ride afforded the two men time to study each other. Ken looked remarkably unchanged by time yet there were those little differences that didn't correlate with the mental photo Yohji had carried with him for the past three years. Ken was leaner, his taut muscles completely at odds with the apron he wore. His hair was a little longer than he had kept it before, shaggier so that it fell almost completely into his eyes. His face was relatively unchanged, but what hint of youthfulness it had shown in the days that they had lived together had now completely given way to a sharper more mature look. Ken who had never been able to manage more than the occasional facial hair now sported the shadow of stubble on his chin.

Yohji imagined he himself was a sight for sore eyes, the way Ken's honey-colored ones flickered over him. He had let his hair get a little longer too and it had grown a little darker with age. He no longer owned any belly shirts but the shirt he was wearing was still tight enough to reveal that he was thinner, more wiry. Lifting weights, he had found, was no match for lifting dead bodies. He pushed up his sunglasses, no Schuldig's sunglasses, suddenly self-conscious, as the elevator let them out on the ground floor.

They walked hurriedly through the lobby and out into a rush of cool wind. The store's scooter was parked so innocently and innocuously on the curb that it almost made Yohji weep. Ken leaned against it, looking unsure of what to do next.

"Man," was the first thing he said after that pregnant silence, then the words came spilling out. "We looked everywhere for you. Kritiker told us you were dead but there was never a body. There was no body that turned up in the bay and we kept watching the news, thinking they'd say they'd found you. We went to every hospital, every morgue, looking for blonde amnesiacs or blonde corpses. Once, I just walked along the shore thinking I'd find your watch."

Yohji held up his wrist, displaying the watch that had gone unused for so long. It seemed to calm Ken down.

"I promise you, Yohji, we never gave up hope. We always believed we'd find you."

"We?" Yohji finally managed the question, trepidation bubbling in his soul, because the truth was he _had _given up hope he had been so certain they were dead, all of them. How could he have been so sure? Why didn't he ever look for them?

Ken gave a deep frown at the question and Yohji took it for bad news feeling his heart stop its frantic beating in his chest, preparing for the worst, but then Ken's face broke into realization and he hurried to answer, "Oh! We're fine, Yohji. Ran and Omi, they're back at the Koneko right now. Everyone's fine."

"The Koneko?" Yohji's voice broke on the question as if the flower shop was another person he had lost and before he could stop it a sob burst from his throat. He quelled the tears that burnt the back of his eyes, physically biting on his lip, trying to restrain his emotion. Ken looked close to crying as well.

"Jesus Christ," the shorter man murmured again, shaking his head. "Wait 'til Omi sees you. He'll have a fit, he'll be so happy."

The thought of Omittchi, not swallowed up by some tormenting wave as Yohji had always imagined, but alive and well and at the flower shop this very moment, sent the tears surging out. And Aya. Aya not covered in blood as in nightmares but instead shrouded in red life-affirming hair. The P.I in Yohji considered that Ken had not said Aya but had instead said Ran, but he let this slide in favor of falling into Ken for another hug. This one he returned in earnest, eager to accept this reality, this suddenly possible reality in which everything he had hoped for could be true.

Ken pulled away first, wiping away his own tears.

"Man, look at us. Two grown men crying on the side of the road. Come on, let's go, Yohji, let's take you home."

Yohji beamed at these words certain he had stepped into a fairy tale. He was Dorothy, finally learning that all she had to do, all she'd had to do all along, was click her red heels together. Yohji walked along side Ken who pushed the scooter along with them, leading the way to the Koneko.

"It's not too far. We can walk," Ken supplied.

But the first indication that Yohji had that he was not in a fairy tale, that maybe things could not be exactly how they used to be was Ken's pronounced limp. Yohji cursed himself for not noticing until now. Ken walked with a limp, not with the burden of pushing the scooter but with a burden Yohji could not yet place, but would soon understand.


	10. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz. I also don't own the song bits at the beginning of each chapter. They're all from various Something Corporate songs.

A/N: It's been a long time and this story's kind of been on hiatus while I've worked on other real life pursuits. However it was never far from my mind. Hopefully this will be its somewhat triumphant return to more frequent infrequent updates. Please enjoy.

**The Rising Tide**

Chapter Nine

"This is your ghost that kneels before me"

Ruthless – Something Corporate

If the Koneko no Sumi-ie had looked as it did three years prior Kudoh Yohji probably would have broken down in its doorway. As it was, the store, in its new location in one of the more expensive areas of Tokyo, was quite different from its predecessor. The bell atop the door rang as Ken and Yohji entered, but its frequency was different, higher, and to Yohji's ears, a little false. The flower shop, twice as large as the original, was filled with young women, but these girls carried themselves with the dignity of trust funds and private schooling.

The store hummed with the collective voices of ten or twenty excited girls who giggled and shrieked in turns at the pretty flower arrangements, the stuffed animals holding pillows shaped like hearts and, of course, at the handsome young man who served them from behind a raised counter in the center of the store. It looked like a pedestal, the girls weeping at the feet of some god. But the god was Omi Tsukiyono dispensing change from the cash register to the few girls who were actually there to buy something. He glanced up when the bell rang but didn't look past the bobbing ocean of women to see who had entered.

Ken and Yohji paused in the doorway, Ken perhaps considering the safest route through the masses, Yohji struggling to take it all in.

"Omi!" Ken belted out from the doorway, always choosing the more boisterous approach. "Look!" Ken waved his arms wildly presenting his prize not only to Omi, but to the entire store. A baffled Yohji Kudoh stood biting his lip in uncharacteristic nervousness.

"Look!" Ken yelled.

With a flick of cornstalk hair out of cobalt eyes, the boy, no, now the young man, looked up.

"Where have you been, Ken?" He began to ask, but the question delivered in a smooth tenor ended with a squeak of surprise.

Omi did not betray his shock aside from the nearly imperceptible way he gripped the counter before him for support. Then the surprise melted away entirely giving way for Bombay's rapid fire decision making to kick in.

"We're closing early today," he declared to a high-pitched chorus of complaints. Still the girls filed out easily enough used to the bizarre behavior of their favorite flower shop owners. As they passed they treated Yohji with a curious suspicion, already whispering gossipy conjectures as to who the hot blonde was and why he'd had such an effect on _their_ future boyfriends.

Ever responsible, Omi made sure to lock the register and shut the door behind the last customer, lowering the metal gate, before tentatively approaching the blonde man before him.

Yohji noticed at once that the difference in their heights was greatly reduced although Omi certainly still looked small for his age. He tried to stand perfectly still as Omi's cool smooth hands played over his face.

"Is it really you?" asked Omi his voice tightly controlled.

"Yeah," Yohji breathed. "Yeah, Omittchi, it's really me."

Yohji wrapped his arms around the smaller man on a desperate impulse, breathing in the scent of him which was familiar and strange at once. A different shampoo perhaps, but distinctly, unmistakeably Omi. Yohji knew he was shaking and didn't care.

Yohji felt Omi pulling away and was regarded by huge blue eyes swimming in tears. Omi had a hand over his mouth as the wetness bubbled over and dripped down his cheeks. Ken placed a comforting hand on both their shoulders, shaking his head, beaming.

"It's a fucking miracle," Ken said, because neither of them could make a sound beyond hitched breathing and gasping sobs. "It's amazing."

"Oh, Yohji-kun," Omi sighed from behind his hand.

As if the thought was just occurring to him, Omi jumped up. He hurried to what looked like a workbench laden with scissors and ribbons and a flower arrangement left half complete. Omi dragged over two stools.

"Sit," he commanded. Yohji was appreciative of the gentle hands guiding him to the chair. He felt too dazed to find it otherwise. "You too Ken-kun, get off that leg."

Ken limped over. Sitting gingerly, he raised up his bad leg, revealing a cris-cross of scars riding along the inside of his shin. He massaged the muscle, grinning toothily at Yohji seated across from him.

Yohji felt the bobbing of his Adam's apple, awkwardly jumping in his throat, he felt light-headed and self-conscious under Omi's azure gaze, ecstatic beyond words, but terrified when Omi asked in a stunned kind of wonderment, "oh Yohji, where have you been all this time? Why didn't you come find us?"

"I thought you were dead," he said and then stuck on those words, he paused, recalling that old panic. He was certain he could feel the cold, cold water of Tokyo Bay on his skin and in his lungs and he was there again, fighting against the waves trying to save them, his family, from the collapsing building and their malevolent enemies and the inevitable grim reaper, finally come to call them to hell.

And then there was the calm, the beach, orange hair that he mistook at first for the flames of the afterlife. Mastermind, Schuldig, come to save his life and end it in one breath, "They're dead, kitten. They're all dead." The end of one life and the beginning of another, converging in this moment that felt like both the best dream and the worst nightmare.

"Yohji-kun?"

Yohji was numb to Omi's concerned touch. All he could feel was a crushing weight on his heart, a constriction, vice-like and he wanted to tell the truth but where was the truth anymore? He felt he had been hit by a wave and didn't know which way was up.

Omi kneeled before him looking excited and amazed and worried at once, but behind that brotherly joy at a family reunited was the dart-like gaze of Bombay, analyzing, always analyzing, and beneath that somewhere was Takatori Mamoru and Yohji only knew that he was not ready to face any of these people. Not yet. He pushed Schuldig's glasses up, to protect the depths of his own eyes and pulled his quivering mouth into a smooth smile.

"I'm fine Omittchi. I've been lost these last three years. I feel like I've been dreaming and I just woke up."

Omi nodded vigorously his eyes filling up with tears again. They embraced and Yohji held the younger man tightly, comforted at least, by the honesty of this action. Peering through the fall of Omi's honey colored hair, Yohji could make out Ken a few feet feet away. He was rubbing the ankle of his bad leg in slow circles, hypnotized by an uncharacteristic contemplation. Their eyes met over Omi's shoulder and Ken nodded, nearly imperceptibly, as if to say he had noted that Omi's question had gone unanswered.

Yohji didn't have time to wonder at this exchange. Suddenly, Omi was yanking himself out of their prolonged hug, reacting with assassin like stealth to the three staccato knocks on the metal door.

"Manx."

Ken jumped up too, miraculously steady on his damaged leg, "she's early."

"Manx?" Yohji squacked, but before any answers were provided he was being tugged up and out of the store. Ken lead him through a locked door that opened up into a kitchen disturbingly similar to the one they had all shared above the old Koneko.

"You still see Manx? You still work for Kritiker?" Yohji knew he was babbling, even as he struggled out of Ken's hold.

"Keep it down," Ken hissed in a whisper. "She'll hear you. And right now it's probably best if Kritiker doesn't know that we know you're alive. Not at least until we figure this whole thing out."

Yohji took it upon himself to sit heavily in one of four chairs situated around a dining table. Ken regarded him wearily, as outside they heard the lifting of the metal gate and Omi's cheerful greeting to the Kritiker operative.

"I just have one question," Ken said, bracing himself as though he were standing before a goal, preparing himself for the arrival of a hurtling soccer ball. "Do you have any business with anyone in that apartment building I met you in today? Are you working for anyone?"

Yohji could only shake his head. He looked down at his knees, suddenly ashamed. "I haven't been working for anyone. I haven't been doing a single thing."

Ken nodded, relaxing and Yohji found himself surprised at how easily the answer was accepted. 'I've spent too much time living with a nosy telepath,' Yohji considered and tried to ignore the nervous rolling in the pit of his gut.

"Ken-kun," came Omi's sweet call from out in the shop. It betrayed nothing. "Manx is here!"

"Stay put," Ken said, maneuvering towards the door. To Omi he called, "I'm coming!" and then throwing Yohji back a pure grin, he whispered,"I'll be right back. Don't disappear on us again."

Now alone, in the kitchen Yohji longed for a smoke. He stood on wobbly legs and made his way over to the sink. He considered the window above it, wondered if he could get away with cracking it just a tad and smoking out of it as he had in the old days to appease his roommates delicate lungs and even more delicate sensibilities. He smiled ecstatically at the memory, no longer tinged with grief, but gave up the idea, concerned that the smell of smoke might reach Manx and tip her off. He settled instead for turning on the sink the barest bit and splashing his face with the cold water it produced.

His eyes squeezed shut against the liquid pouring down his face, Yohji reached reflectively for the dishtowel Omi had always kept by the sink on a little hook and had to smile all over again when he found it, laughing quietly to himself like an excited little kid.

Yohji stopped half chuckle when he heard the creaking of the hard wood floor. Reflexes still razor sharp, in an instant he had the towel wrung between his fists, an impromptu weapon, ready to launch into an attack. He stopped short when he turned to an entrance opposite of the one Ken had left through and saw, standing there, a frighteningly familiar young woman.

The girl stepped forward and smiled up at Yohji. Not the least bit fazed by his predatory stance, she looked quite innocuous in her school uniform. Relaxing, Yohji wondered if she was one of the fan girls from the flower shop, who'd gotten locked in when Omi had rushed to close. But no, that couldn't be right. There was something about the shape of her face, something in that hair so jet black as to appear blue, that gave Yohji pause.

"I knew you'd be here soon," she said with a cheer that rivaled Omi's. She looked pleased with herself.

"You knew I was coming?"

The girl nodded and it was the gold rod earrings that swung like twin pendulums out from behind her hair, that finally gave her away.


	11. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz. I also don't own the song bits at the beginning of each chapter. They're all from various Something Corporate songs.

**The Rising Tide**

Chapter Ten

"I've never been so lost. I've never felt so much at home."

I Woke Up in a Car – Something Corporate

"Aya-chan."

She stepped closer at the gasp that was her name, still nodding, smiling harder now, encouragingly. Another step closer and Yohji found himself backing away, suddenly more wary of this girl who should have been a ghost than he had been five minutes ago when he'd assumed she was an intruder.

"You remember!" She said with a squeal.

He did. Yohji remembered her, still as death the few times Aya—no Ran, of course, now he must be Ran—the few times Ran had allowed him in the sacred hallow of her hospital room. He remembered her in the old pictures Ran safe guarded, looking not a day younger than she did right now, in the flesh. He remembered her as a lifeless little puppet when Schwartz had—no, don't think of Schwartz. Not here. Not now.

Aya-chan had crept towards him. She grabbed his hand. She was startlingly animated, startlingly alive. Up close, she smelt, not like hospital bleach or dry shampoo, but like the fruity designer scents the girls in the Koneko used to wear. She was much prettier with a little color warming her cheeks. Her lips were small and blood red, like her brother's, but she'd already used them more for smiling in these last few minutes than Ran ever had in the entire sorry time Yohji had known him.

"I'm glad you're here, Yohji. It's just like in my dream."

He wanted to know why she was so happy. He wanted to know how she knew his name. He definitely wanted to know what she meant by a dream, but all he could manage was a baffled, "what?"

The day had already wrought too many surprises; he was beginning to feel light-headed from the weight of all the revelations, but it seemed like the Fates weren't quite done yet.

Aya-chan grasped his large calloused hands in her own small, smooth ones and Yohji found himself startled by how warm she felt. He expected those hands to be cold and still in the frozen repose that had always characterized his lover's baby sister.

"I knew you were coming, not when exactly, but at least that you would—" Aya-chan began to say, but then the rush of words stopped abruptly and Yohji felt her little hands stiffen.

He watched with horror as those midnight blue eyes rolled back into her head. He was scared she was fainting and prepared to catch her if he had to, but she only shuddered deeply, before righting herself. Her formerly sweet expression snapped into one of solemnity. Suddenly, the family resemblance was uncanny.

"You'd better go," she said hurriedly, withdrawing her hands from Yohji's. She began pushing him towards the door.

"Go? Go where?"

"Hurry, he's coming. I don't know when but he's coming and when he catches you in here—"

"Wait, just wait," Yohji commanded. He refused to let himself be herded by a teenage girl, not at least until he got some information. Her hands were moving too frantically but he was able to catch a hold of her wrists to stop her, to steady her, to steady himself. He shook her a little.

"Who's coming?"

"My brother."

Yohji felt the statement register as a malignant tingle up his spine. He wasn't sure what he wanted more, to demand further explanation or to wake from this hybrid dream-nightmare. But as Aya-chan had insisted, there was no time for Yohji to choose whether he wished to see Ran or not. He was already there.

Ran was already in the doorway, a look twisting on his face, frozen somewhere between shock and sorrow. It melted quickly into an expression of cold, deadly decision, a look Yohji knew far too well. Ran stepped into the room his eyes never wavering from Yohji's, his hand dangerously steady as he drew his sword.

"Move Aya-chan."

"Aya," Yohji exhaled. His legs threatened to buckle and without really meaning to he took a few stumbling steps forward to keep his balance.

But Aya-chan had placed herself between them, stopping Yohji's hesitant forward progress and leveling desperate, pleading eyes on Ran.

"Yohji's here, Ran, he's come back to you."

Aya-chan pressed herself near enough to Yohji, that he could feel her tremble as she spoke. Human shield, Yohji realized, as Ran raised his sword and advanced.

"Move!" Ran shouted with a rage usually reserved for the man who killed his family.

Yohji shoved Aya-chan out of the way, perhaps too roughly, sending her tumbling to the linoleum floor, but at least out of her brother's murderous line of fire. He pulled a length of wire just as the sword crashed down upon him, shielding himself from its sharp end, but stumbling under the strength of Ran's swing.

They grappled, Ran pushing down unrelentingly on the sword, Yohji's fingers beginning to bleed from the wire wrapped tight around his bare hands, his legs aching under the defensive stance.

Ran swung, Yohji ducked, narrowly escaping scrambled out of the way as Ran swung again; something on the counter crashed to the ground, shattered.

Aya-chan was screaming for Ran to stop and Yohji could barely make out what she was saying as his heartbeat pounded through his ears. Ran lunged, Yohji evaded, they danced around the kitchen.

"You'll hurt him! Stop!" Aya-chan wedged herself into the smallest corner of room. "Ran! Don't kill Yohji!"

"He's an imposter," Ran hissed. His breath was coming ragged. He began to raise his sword above his head. "Yohji is dead."

Yohji could barely catch his own breath, his weakened lungs already screaming at the exertion required to keep him alive. The glint of Ran's sword as it fell towards him was dizzying, blinding.

Yohji threw his wire, found his target, yanked. He heard the sword clatter to the ground. But Ran's rage could not be stopped. Now without his weapon, he crashed into Yohji and they both fell, Yohji's wire tight around his slender neck.

Yohji's world narrowed to violet eyes, just the hue he remembered, brighter even, and the familiar weight of Ran's body pushing down his own. It was poetic to feel Ran's hands as they clamped around his neck, choking him, turning every inch of the world fuzzy, except, of course, for the color of violet.

But Yohji had the ends of the wire and he needed only to pull to feel the pulse of Ran's carotid artery being compressed. He only needed to pull to be free of Ran's choking grasp. Somewhere Aya-chan was screaming, somewhere he could hear Omi, then Ken, yelling his name. But they were fading, everything was only violet.

There was a hollow thunk that rocked both bodies and Yohji watched as Ran's eyes fluttered weakly. Had he killed him? Had he killed both of his former lovers? Twice? He could breathe now but he was wasting it by hyperventilating.

Ken was pulling Ran off of him. Yohji tried to sit, found he couldn't remember how to move and so he decided it would be easier to remain sprawled on the cold floor. Blearily, he watched Omi pull one of his tranquilizing darts out of Ran's back with a methodical kind of care. Ran slumped on the floor too, his eye's half lidded, using all of his energy to watch Yohji with the little distrust he could muster. Aya-chan rushed to his side.

Not dead, Yohji's adrenaline clouded mind deciphered, just sedated.

Ken helped Yohji to stand. The younger man had a hint of worry lines marring his brow. He was limping a bit more heavily now, Yohji noticed absently, like his troubles had doubled in the past half hour.

"I guess you met Aya-chan," Ken said with rueful humor.

"Not formally," Yohji coughed back. He half-heartedly straightened his rumpled shirt. At some point the rubber band he'd had in his hair had snapped. Now the blonde strands frizzed around his face in an unkempt halo. Ken bent to rescue Yohji's sunglasses from the floor. He returned them to him; they were mostly unscathed.

Across the room, Ran seemed to be rousing himself. The lines around his neck were red and accusatory. One wept a single tear of blood and Ran did nothing to wipe it away.

"Why would you hurt Yohji-kun?" Aya-chan murmured, breaking the pregnant silence Yohji, lost in his slow, muddled thoughts, had not noticed forming around them.

Omi had acquired a med-kit from seemingly thin air and he began tending to Ran's wounds. Beneath Omi's careful attentions, the redheaded man seethed with the violent energy he could not articulate in his currently anesthetized state.

"He's finally back," Ken yelled, his voice rising with each word, "after all this time, and the first thing you do is try to kill him?"

"Ken-kun," Omi warned, but he was interrupted.

"That's not Yohji," Ran bit out. "Yohji is dead. Drowned."

A pained expression crossed Ran's face. It had nothing to do with the swathes Omi was applying to his bloody neck and everything to do with the words streaming brokenly from his mouth.

"Yohji's gone. This person is a lie. A cruel lie. Another dirty trick from SS."

Omi paused, his eyes narrowing, as though considering this claim. Ken's helpful hold on Yohji's shoulder loosened marginally.

"It's me. I am Yohji. Aya," his voice broke. He cleared his throat, began again. "Ran. Please believe me."

But how could they? And how could he explain? And what if Ran was right, what if he was dead? Yohji felt those damn tears prickling in his eyes and a sob choking the back of his throat. Dammit, hadn't he cried enough for one day? Schu would call him a bitch.

'Shit. Don't think of Schu.'

"He's telling the truth."

All eyes in the room snapped to Aya-chan.

"It really is him. I know it. I saw that he was coming in one my visions. He really is Yohji Kudoh."

Ran let out something of a low growl and lunged for the sword that lay just inches from his grasp. Omi quickly restrained him, but Ran continued to thrash wildly, hell-bent on attacking Yohji once more.

"Ken," Omi slipped into mission-mode, his arms clinging to Ran's shoulders. "Get Yohji out of here. Go."

"But—"

"Please. Ran's only going to hurt himself more."

Ken added no further complaint. He lead a stunned Yohji out of the room, past Aya-chan who was whispering pleading words to her brother, past Omi who offered the briefest look of sympathy, past Ran, who had ceased his struggle and now sat, and shook, on the kitchen floor.

They were out in the alley now and the sun had started to set. Yohji shivered though he couldn't really register the cold that whipped through the gap behind the Koneko.

"I'm sorry," Ken said. He ran his hand roughly through his hair. A few strands stood straight up, giving him a frenzied look. Yohji wanted to laugh but knew if he started he might not stop. It all was really too much, for all of them.

"It's just been a lot of revelations all in one day," Ken offered and Yohji had to remind himself that the boy could not read his mind.

"You believe me don't you? I'm not an imposter, or a trick." Yohji looked down at his empty hands, cris-crossed in old scars from the few times he'd used his wire without gloves and paid the price. Now these new wounds promised to add to the design. "I don't have any way to prove it to you."

"I believe you."

Yohji looked up, hopeful. Ken smiled back sheepishly.

"Or at least I believe Aya-chan. Her visions are pretty erratic and unpredictable. But they're never wrong."

"Visions? You mean, she's psychic or something?

"Psychic, yeah she has pre-cog-pre-," Ken stumbled over the word.

"Precognition," Yohji supplied.

"Yeah! Like Oracle from Schwartz."

"Like Oracle," Yohji repeated dumbly.

"She woke up from the coma with this ability. SS gave it to her. You can imagine how pissed Ran was."

Yohji didn't know what to say. He was developing a terrible headache. Ken sighed heavily.

"You'd better go. We diverted Manx for a little while, by telling her that Ran was still out, but she should be expecting him back any time."

Yohji was reluctant and terrified. Everything he'd learned today hovered just above his senses, it hadn't yet sunk in and Yohji was scared to be alone when it all finally hit him.

Ken and Omi and Aya were alive. The last three years of his life had been a lie.

And if he left them now, if he let them out of his sight, would it be another three years til he found them again? He couldn't bear the thought.

"Tomorrow. After my shift, at three o'clock. We'll talk," Ken looked around nervously, "Not here though. There's a new café down the block from the apartment building we met in today."

Yohji nodded, he knew the one.

"We'll talk about everything there. I'll answer all your questions," Ken said pointedly, "and you can answer all of mine."

[A/N: Hello all you extraordinarily faithful readers. This story has been quite the undertaking and yes, as some of you have pointed out, it's getting to span quite the length of time with very few updates.

This story is a hobby of mine, one that often has to take the backseat to my desire to be a writer IRL, which in turn has to take the backseat to my desire to be a functioning member of society (with a job that actually occasionally pays me.)

That being said, it is a very fond hobby one that I don't intend to give up any time soon. I hope that I can at least offer you quality over quantity? Maybe? Hopefully?

PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP ON ME KIND READER!

Lastly and most importantly, THANK YOU to everyone that has reviewed over the years, especially those who have reviewed multiple times or, amazingly, on every chapter. I love you desperately and you shame me into writing faster.


End file.
